In the middle of the night, from the other side of the room, I can hear the sound of the dog breathing. It is a deep, peaceful sound like a human’s breath. The cat, on the other hand, makes no sound. But she is there with us too, on the edge of the bed or La-z-boy.

As Dawn and I work more from home and leave the house less, we are with our pets more than we are other people. The pets are getting older like us, but the pets are getting older fast. The cat looks immortal but the dog, less so—as evidenced by her getting into the chocolates this week and gagging up phlegm and foil everywhere.

I’ve found myself having little to do on the weekends and lounging around with the pets doing nothing. Maybe that sounds nice or relaxing but to me, it’s an odd way of life. And I know that’s not healthy for someone my age. I should be out in the world with my own species, my people.

But post-pandemic, the Zoom-type world has become my mainstay. The people I interact with most—my clients and colleagues—are all one dimensional. They are on the same flat plane as the PowerPoint decks I make, more moving shapes than animate beings.

Whereas once it felt weird, now it feels normal. And that feels weird, perhaps worrying. There is now a novel, exotic air to meeting people in person. I’m at times awkward with in-person (I talk and reveal too much, miss social cues); clearly I just don’t get out enough.

Last summer we tried the church softball team but I realized quickly I’m not that kind of athlete, and softball is dangerous. We entertained the idea of befriending our neighbors, but it went nowhere. I thought about lingering in the Starbucks in hopes I’d meet someone, but that felt pathetic. Texting or calling old friends started to feel like too much work.

And so we have our pets. Because they will never tire of us or get enough of our time. And after a while you can start to personify them: the way they look at you or snuggle in on the couch, how they greet you when you’ve been gone. The way they breathe at night, it really can feel like another human.

Pets are wonderful. I’d argue most of the time people are better, but not always. Because human company helps us get out of ourselves more and relate. Being human is harder when you’re not around other humans. Sometimes I wonder if it’s a learnable skill, one we can forget.

Categories: Technology, writing

Tags: Creative Nonfiction, Technology