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A Hairy Situation

I got a pet. Okay, before anyone runs screaming to my Co-op Board (pets are strictly forbidden) please hear me out. My pet cleans up after itself. And unlike me, he doesn’t shed. That’s why I named him Harry. I only got him out of necessity. Some people own dogs to eat the food that drops on the floor while others let their cats take care of their “mouse” issues. As for my reason, let’s just say the dust balls that grow in my home pass like tumbleweeds on the prairie.

I had all sorts of pets growing up. A golden retriever named Candy, Willie the Maltese, a few goldfish, a bird (which came and went with an ex), and in my micro studio I had Fred the Cockroach. (Every new cockroach, even though I killed the previous one, I named Fred.) Pets can be wonderful companions. They cheer you up and are always happy to see you when you get home.

Like Harry. He’s loyal, friendly and though I’ve only had him a few days, we bonded immediately. He doesn’t come when I call, but that’s okay, he’ll learn. Plus, he’s not too loud, which again, is good considering my Co-Op rules.

“He’s adorable!” a friend said when she met him. “Is he high maintenance?”

“Not at all,” I told her. “He’s quiet, sleeps through the night, and oh does he purr.”

Which is one of the reasons I got him.

You see Harry is an O-Duster. And while I love my hardwood floors as they warm the apartment and the color is spectacular, they collect dust. With the combination of the sun streaming in and my long curly hair, well, the dust balls can be downright frightening.

But not to Harry.

When I’m working at home I turn him on and he skittles around the furniture, playfully sneaking up under my feet, slipping into places I could reach, but choose to ignore. The best part, he’s not afraid to venture under the bed, which is where he does his best work, leaving me time to do mine.

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