It’s a bit emptier in the house. Losing a pet is like that. Even a pet you didn’t mean to have. Especially those. Like the old man porch cat named Sunburst who had trickled into our lives. Eventually, he also trickled off our front porch and onto the wicker Ottoman we kept in the dining room. There he would curl up like a loaf of bread, watching all the craziness around him.
Our house is always crazy. A hive of activity. Like rush hour at Grand Central. Running. Screaming. Unintelligible PA announcements about boarding trains or getting ready for school. A flurry. An unending bustle. A panic and a whirlwind.
This cat was fascinated by it. He watched it all – these fish in their bowl. Going about their multi-tasking and manic lives. “Don’t they see there’s a perfectly warm Ottoman here?” he seemed to say. “Why don’t they just kick back with me?”
That was the look on his little critter face: Content. Grateful. Always at peace.
Lucky bugger, right up to the end.