by Kathy Philpott

Created on: November 30, 2009   Last Updated: December 02, 2009

There is a theory that pet owners start to resemble their pets after a few years. That being said, I am relieved that I didn't purchase the sweet, little pot-bellied pig I saw in a shop window last year at Christmas time. There may be truth to the idea just the same. My sister has a brightly colored, male cockatiel bird. His name is Harry. After her last rocker type haircut, she and Harry look a great deal alike. They can even whistle the Marines Hymn without much prompting. Look out America's Most Talented.

My only pet is a fluffy, huge white cat. We look nothing alike, although we both have blue eyes and need regular brush outs so our fur doesn't shed. Now, in reference to my car that's a different story.

My Honda coup is ten years old. She sits pretty low to the ground. At four feet, eleven inches tall, I get closer to the ground all the time.

We both wear bras. Hers keep the bugs at bay and mine keeps gravity at bay. Thankfully, we wear different bra sizes. That may change in a couple of years.

We both have a lot of miles on us. My sixty years and her one hundred thousand miles push us both precariously close to over the hill. She keeps working hard and seldom complains. I try to follow her example. My little car has gone on many weekend get a ways with me. She has returned me safely even when ice, wind or snow blocked our way home.

The mornings that her engine turns over are reason for celebration. I celebrate mornings that I'm able to turn over and face a new day with all my body parts working.

My silver roots and her silver paint need regular touch ups. Her headlight covers are blurred by highway grit. My eyes grow dimmer with each passing year. We have each grown a little rough around our mutual edges.

Both our front grills need work. Hers is pitted with petrified bugs and hits from rocks hitting her before her bra. My grills, or rather, my teeth, have problems of their own. If I lose any more, I will be ready for a banjo.

We both need tune-ups but she is the only one with insurance. Right now, we are content to drive the speed limit, sing with the music turned up loud and remain grateful for another day together.

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