Audience of Strangers

I miss you, buddy.

Yesterday was hard. Not because of the date specifically, but you've been on my mind a lot these last few days, and yesterday I could not sleep until very late.


I know the LOML told you, when you left, that you didn't have to be taking care of everyone anymore. You could stop doing your job, you could rest, and we'd take care of it.

(I found this picture of you and Lucy, while I was going through your album.

It made me laugh, a little. It made me happy? Made me stop and contemplate, for a moment. You were pretty good at that. The gravity probably helped.)

There have been a couple of days, over this last year, when knowing that has been what's gotten me moving.

Work is still being... well, I'd pick you up and squeeze you if you were here. It's never as easy to find Sam's collar. Lucy had a lump near her heart, but she glared it into submission until we checked it out and it's gone away. The shitcat from the back yard is wearing someone's skin, down south.

But it's okay. I'm still moving. I'm doing better than I was. And the sun still comes in the window, and in the mornings it is quiet and just bright enough.


I still love you, Angus. You showed me how to sleep (a lot, in case I forgot), you reminded me to take care of myself, you snuggled. Your purr would go through my bones, and your heart was bigger than your floof, and you were the best armful of cuddle for resting ever.

Hanging in there.