Her Fur Still Clings to Everything

i always wondered what it would be like to find a pet dead. what do you do? who do you call? coming home from work, their body already limp. you weren't there. you can't do anything. you get sad. there's a body to take care of.

and then it happens. sudden. all too fast. it's panic and trembling hands. what do i do? you already know she's not going to make. a sprint to the vet. breathless. sorry for skipping the line. she's not breathing. please.

they tried.

you go home. the carrier is empty. the sofa empty. the bed empty. the scratching tree empty. silence.

you can still imagine her there. in another room. sleeping.

then it's dishes. because what else are you supposed to do? think about how she jumped on top of you in the morning to scream for food? how she'd sprint to the kitchen, purring in anticipation less than an hour ago. how she always blocked the sofa and yelled at anybody daring to ask her to move. her sweet little chirps. the allergies.

you'll never see her again. you can't grasp it. you'll never see her again.

you blame yourself. if you'd just... you trace it all back. you beg and bargain. if you'd just..

then laundry.

then there's nothing left to clean.

her fur still clings to everything.

she didn't die alone. i hope she knows how loved she was. i hope there's infinite ice cream wherever she is.

† Merrill 2013-2025