He doesn't run out the door when I open it. He doesn't kick up litter or push around his food bowl. He doesn't jump on my face at five thirty in the morning, or even seven. He doesn't tear up the sofa. He doesn't run to the door, alert and on call, when the door bell rings. He doesn't scratch at bags of Chinese or Japanese food expectantly. He doesn't tear at baked chicken or deli turkey breast.
Fuck.
My poor stuffed puppy (semi-nameless at this point, let's call him Junior, really I'm far too old to be naming stuffed animals) is no substitute, although he doesn't scratch, he does tend to get lost under the blankets.
Fuck.
I'm a bit bummed.
Who knew?
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1 comment:
Awww sweetie. Losing my kitties was the hardest thing I ever did during my divorce. I'm so sorry. Pets are tons of work and responsibility (and give you mom guilt)- but it's hard to let them go.
hugs.
xo
M
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