Friendship Is a Pair of New Boots

Bob was a pretty rough-and-ready character when he came to live with me.

He didn’t take kindly to being told off and could be a real handful if I stopped him from doing something. Before I had him neutered, he would lash out and scratch me. My hands bore the scars of his occasional tantrums.

I’d be lying if I said his behaviour didn’t annoy me at times. But I had formed an instant affection for him and wanted our relationship to work.

At that time, I remember, I’d just bought myself a pair of black, army-style boots, from a local charity store. My old pair had literally fallen apart. The new pair did not quite fit me properly; the boots were a bit tight and had started to chafe and blister my feet. The best part of the day was taking them off.

It was as I slipped off the boots and let my feet breathe one evening, that it struck me.

Bob was pacing the flat, looking a little agitated. Earlier that evening, he had hissed at me when I’d tried to encourage him to use the litter tray I had brought into the house.

He was bound to feel uneasy with me and his new home, I thought to myself. Things I did were bound to rub him up the wrong way. But with patience, we would mould our friendship to fit each other’s personality. We would get used to each other and our very different ways.

Our friendship was actually no different to my new pair of boots. It was going to take time. There would be some discomfort. We’d irritate each other. But in the end, we’d fit each other just fine. And so it proved.