Sitting on the sofa reading poetry I had just been laughing over the lines “If gratuitous suffering paid even minimum wage,/ and Carrie kept track of the hours,/ she could be behind the wheel of a late model car by now,”
Of course I loved the wry turn of phrase. I paused and thought how clever. I looked to my left at the tiny bit of drool hanging from the cat’s chin. Nick does this sometimes when he purrs…. instead of thinking of his little cat motor singing its song of electrified contentment, I thought of the night Paris died and the drool that came out of her mouth as she tried to breath and her breath escaped her. Looking at Nick I thought about his eventual passing too. He looks so calm, almost zen like, sitting with his front paws folded under his chest. His head nods a little like a mild form of Parkinson’s. He’s getting old and his sight is bad. Watching him, my eyes watered as I thought about his peaceful soul… my buddy. Once you’ve experienced loss, it becomes an anticipatory practice. This is the way of the world. This is the weight of the things we love. The temporary pleasures that life gives and takes away. The poem I was reading “Leaving Yourself Behind.”