Pekoe

 

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Pekoe came to me the summer of 2006. He was a skinny little thing with scarred up paws and a quickly overcome case of the worms.

I got him from my supervisor at the African Lion Safari. Her mom had seen something flung from the window of a van on a rural road and later, found him wandering on the side of the same road. I was just out of residence, and, having grown up with animals, desperately wanted one of my own.

I took him home.

He’s not so little anymore, nor so sweet. He used to sleep sprawled across my chest every night. Now, he’s more often down by my legs or even in the pile of dirty laundry in front of my closet. When I’m watching TV or reading a book on the couch, he’d rather nap on the chair than in my lap. But I still find it endearing how, no matter where I am in the house, he has to be there too. When I go to bed, he’s throwing things off my desk. When I’m having breakfast in the morning, he’s whining at the back door, hoping I’ll let him out on his tether. When I take a shower, he’s sitting right at the top of the stairs, outside the bathroom door.

And when I’m taking pictures of fake pearls, he has to be in the picture too.

Since I’m smitten, he always gets his way.

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