On either side, dressed in
variations of gray and white fur
(one solidly shedding, the other
in soft tufts of touchability)
they rest their hindquarters against
my hips in hateful solidarity.

They may be the opposite kind,
but too similar in size, too close
in shape and movement, to face up
to the gargantuan monster who lingers
at the foot of the bed, anxious to play
chase with a new set of fluffy toys.

Whenever he puts his mind to it,
he criss-crosses the room, trotting out
of either door in expectant circles,
forcing low growls, angry hisses, and
petulant pea-sized barks that leave him
both guessing and wanting more.

Whether they’re protecting me or I’m
protecting them, the warmth of love
on either side, floppy eared on the left,
twitching tail on the right, makes me
(us) feel right at home in this home
that is (not quite) our home.