It's been two weeks since Wolfie crossed the bridge, and the pain of being without her stings just as bad as it did when I said my final goodbye. Now, I find myself at almost 4 o'clock in the morning, piddling away on this computer. I look to the corner and expect to see my little black and white girl stretched out in the corner asleep, or possibly staring at me as if to say, "Hey, Pam, let's take a late night stroll." Some show is on the television. They're trying to sell gemstones. This show bores me but I don't care to turn it off. I lost my most valuable gemstone two weeks ago -- May 5, 2001 -- a day that shall be forever known as The Worst Saturday I Ever Had. I caught myself about to call her name. I looked to the corner and haphazardly called "Wolf--". I stopped myself, because it suddenly hit me again that she wasn't going to answer. She wasn't going to come jogging toward me, the green bell tag on her green nylon color jingling with every step. I don't hear that sound anymore, except if I sit there and physically move her collar. It's so quiet in here... I hope Wolfsbane knows how much we all miss her down here and how much we all loved her and always will love her. C-Biscuit, her brother, hasn't been himself, and I understand... neither have I. Because who I was was defined by the friend I lost, an angel sent from Heaven to be a friend to a girl who had none -- my Marhsmallow Princess, Wolfsbane. I love you Wolfsbane, and one day, one happy day, we'll be back together again, never ever EVER to be apart.