her fur still clings to everything

i always wondered what it would be like to find a pet dead. coming home from work, their body limb. you weren't there. you get sad. there's a body to take care of.

and then it happens. there's just panic. shaking. what do i do? is she still breathing? a sprint to the vet. breathless. sorry for skipping the line. she's not breathing.

they tried.

you go home. the cage is empty. the sofa empty. the bed empty. the scratching tree empty. silence. you can still imagine her there. in another room. sleeping.

then it's dishes. because what else are you supposed to do? think about how she climbed on top of your back in the morning to demand food? how she'd run to the kitchen, purring in anticipation. how she would block the sofa and yell at anybody daring her to ask her. her sweet little chirps. the allergies.

you'll never see her again.

then you blame yourself. if you'd just... you trace it all back. you beg and bargain. if you'd just.

then the laundry.

and then there's nothing left to clean.

she didn't die alone. i hope she knows how loved she was. i hope there's infinite ice cream wherever she is.

her fur still clings to everything.

† Merrill (2013 - 2025)