Quiet
Without Marquatry the house is quiet.
Last night Summer and Smokey waited patiently for their food—wondering where their spokescat had gone.
This morning was quiet.
I had no Marquatry to wake me up.
I wait for him to come around the corner—just to have a conversation.
But it is quiet.
Today I put flowers on his grave.
I framed a picture of him.
Messages to tell him I miss him—and that I don't like it so quiet.
11.1.03