Plato died in my arms last night. I’m relieved that it’s finally over, no more injections or force-feeding, that he’s at peace and no longer suffering, but God I’m going to miss him. I keep thinking about never gonna. He’s never gonna trip me as I’m going down the stairs with an armload of laundry. He’s never gonna prance around on my bladder when it’s full in the morning. He’s never gonna charm me out of bits of my food. He’s never gonna sit on my lap and demand pets when I’m trying to work. He’s never gonna follow me around like a besotted puppy. He’s never gonna curl up in my arms and chocolate-syrup purr me to sleep. He’s never gonna be there, warm and soft and willing to be loved.
He’s buried in the garden with the sleeves of the nubby old green sweater he liked so much wrapped around him. He was the best, and not since my childhood have I loved anyone so completely.