A Series Of Dogs

George Carlin once said that life is a series of dogs.
The dogs you owned, one after another.
For me, life has been a series of cats.
One, two… One time, four of them at once. Now just two.
They were all unique. Different. Special.
How they went, sudden or slow, each its own unique sadness.
Laying in bed, almost asleep, I hear the familiar sound of him leaping to the bed, walking along the blanket, laying down against my side.
Nothing. He is gone. And my mind thinks I still need him there.
Haunting myself for comfort’s sake.

2 thoughts on “A Series Of Dogs”

  1. This was written last year after Nardo died.
    For a few weeks, before I’d fall asleep, I’d hallucinate that he was doing his usual jump-on-the-bed, poke-me-in-the-nose routine.

    Since then, Bruwyn was hit by a car and died.
    It could almost be about him, but he wasn’t as much my buddy as Gina’s huggy-cat.

    With Tinny, we have two cats.

    Just adds to the “life is a series of cats” I suppose.

    -ls/cm

Comments are closed.