Fantasy Vs. Reality:

Fantasy:

I sweep out the sitting room of the little cottage, dancing as a beautiful melody pours from my lips—an ode to the season. All the windows are thrown open, letting the house breathe in the glorious day.

The skies are an endless blue; the early spring flowers are riotous, climbing on top of one another.

A little bird with shimmering teal feathers lands on the broom handle, melding its song with mine, celebrating being alive.

Reality:

I sponge the dried-out cat puke off my ten-year-old-to-me secondhand sofa, singing Lola Young’s “Messy” with attitude.

Chewbarka, my retriever mix, whines by the door and barks, trying to get the neighbor’s attention. He thinks I’m having a stroke.

Lucy Skystalker, my yellow tabby, gets it. I, her loyal minion, am scraping her regurgitated kibble off the royal lounge. All is right in the world. She sings the song of her people in solidarity and celebration.