Misty

I looked up from reading on the couch last night and the bench your bed occupied is empty.

I only made dinner for Cody and your countertop didn’t have little bits of smelly fishy food all over it. I packed your dishes away as soon as I got home.

Cody looks at the basement door, wondering when you will come slinking up so he can chase you around the living room and sniff your butt.

Erika won’t have to clean your catbox anymore, one less thing for us to fight about.

Vince can look at the furniture without yelling about you ripping it apart and he won’t have to hid the fact that he pets you even though he hates cats.

I slept through the night (induced by two huge, water tumbler sized gin and tonics) and you didn’t jump at the door to be let in or whine at three in the morning or startle me by staring at me from my pillow.

I waited for you this morning while I sat on the toilet but you didn’t come for your one and only pet session of the day.

I don’t have to watch my step when I’m half asleep and I don’t have to guard the door at night so you won’t slip out.

Everyone says I did the right thing. Fourteen years is a long life and I think you had a good one.

I know you are kneading Gods knee, while he grimaces at your claws. I love you.