She was nestled in the crooked arm of a cluster of irises when I finally saw her. I had been looking through the dirty dining room window, the one over the mammoth record player, trying to find anything to distract me from the fact that I was doing what I wasn’t supposed to be. There she was, just a little fuzzy lump under the flowers. I let her lay there for a while until I finished my eggs, then I wandered onto the back porch, and woke her up by cooing her name. Her glazed eyes took a moment to register, she got up, stretched her legs, and padded into the house, through the middle room, and jumped onto my bed.

As soon as we were settled and I felt special and loved, I noticed it outside of my bedroom window. It was her twin, the same in every respect, coming down the stairs and stretching its legs just as she had. I looked into my lap to see if she was still there, as if somehow I was imagining it. All of the sudden, I felt betrayed. It was an unexpected and irrational hurt that came from the arches of my feet. Who was this, snuggling up on my bed? Had I left the real one outside? Had some imposter been sleeping under my irises, knowing that in my ignorance I would let the wrong one in? I searched them both for marks of difference, and found none.

The twin sat on the steps and cried for a moment, then slid out of the yard. I couldn’t help but feeling alone for a second. The good feeling from before was gone.