Throughout the worst of Mummy’s illness, when Walker and I felt the most stress and suffered the most loneliness, there was one particularly bad day where my own mental health was also rather questionable. The isolation that day was crippling; Mummy, while physically so close to us, a few below us, encased in her basement tomb, was emotionally more far removed than ever. Walker, too, was too busy sulking to help support me in my distress. I felt horribly alone. I yearned for Mummy, aching to see that damned basement door finally swing open and spit out our mother. I didn’t care what shape she was in, either; I would take whatever I could get. I just wanted my mummy.

But the door remained firmly closed, hour after long, unendurable hour, and the stress of worrying about her coupled with the pain of missing her was simply overwhelming. While Walker sat tucked into himself on the couch, refusing to engage with anyone, I finally reached a point where I just snapped.

I couldn’t take anymore. Someone had to love me; I was a Pomeranian, damnit! I needed love and cuddles in the same way I needed oxygen and water! I watched with anxious eyes as a spider scurried across the laminate flooring, trying to escape the notice of the cats, and before I could stop and think it through, I had jumped up from my dog bed and thrown myself into its path.

“Hi!” I panted into the spider’s startled face. “I’m Dezi, the pampered Pomeranian. Who are you?”

The spider cringed away from me, obviously distrustful, and turned quickly to scurry off in another direction. I quickly pounced on the spot directly in its path once again, halting it in its tracks. I stared at him expectantly, grinning madly.

“Erm….g’day,” he said, still looking at me suspiciously. “How’re you going?”

I cocked my head to one side. “That’s funny. Why do you sound like my Oma?”

He cocked his head in return. “Your Oma?”

“Yeah,” I said. “She talks funny, too. Just like you do.”

“Oh,” the spider’s face cleared with understanding, it’s many eyes all focusing on me. “You must mean my accent.”

I nodded vigorously, though I actually had no idea what he’d just said.

“Is your Oma from Australia?” the spider asked, and I jumped with excitement at the familiar sound.

“Yes! Yes, that’s her homeland,” I barked and turned around twice with excitement.

“Well, I am also from Australia,” said the spider, and I cocked my head again. As though reading my mind, the spider smiled and said, “I climbed into your Mummy’s suitcase the last time she was there. Wanted to see the world; you know how it is.”

Again, I nodded enthusiastically, though I didn’t know any such thing. All I wanted was for my Mummy to be herself again. But then, what did I know?

“Do you want to be my pet?” I blurted out suddenly, and the spider scuttled back on all eight legs in surprise.

“I~I’m sorry?” He asked, two legs coming to his chest as though to keep his insides from bursting through.

“My pet,” I repeated, and I could feel that I was staring too hard, but I couldn’t help myself. I was so lonely. Someone had to play with me, had to admire me, had to adore me, and had to do so soon, or I was going to expire.

The spider eased back a little further, drumming his legs distractedly against his chest. I continued to pant and stare down at him.

“Ummm….” he said, softly creeping backwards again as I began to step towards him.

“I think I need a pet,” I explained hastily, still advancing towards him. “I’m so lonely. Mummy won’t come out of the basement and I’m just so sad and lonely.”

The spider stopped backing away, and all his eyes turned to look me over, the look of suspicion gone. Suddenly, he nodded, and smiled up at me.

“I’ve been there, too,” he told me. He reached out a couple of legs and held them out to me. “Come on, Little Puppy. How about watching some tv with your new pet?”