I had your face on a shirt. I held you in my arms. I delightedly took photos of you in the backyard. I guess the more accurate adjective would be constantly. I have cried on your fur many times and I will many times more. I have told you my worst fears and truest feelings, and you know more about me than most of my friends and family do. I like how there’s never a response when I talk and ask questions. We enjoy the silence.
I have itchy legs because I’ve been playing with you for an hour now in this long grass that scratches and hisses when I touch it. I was never a cat person. I’m a dog person who goes to dog beaches and throws the slobbery frisbee and expects a wet kiss on the cheek before I leave. I look forward to the lazy you-and-me days where we look up at the fluffy clouds, almost as fluffy as you unless it’s summer. Then you have no coat to hang and can roam with no weight on your shoulders. I won’t be in school and we can go on a walk whenever there’s time, even though there never seems to be enough. I’m not home too often to give you enough belly rubs or treats. We don’t get to have playtime all the time. Sometimes it feels like days before I even see you, stop to greet you again. You’ve stopped welcoming me at the door when I come home. You lay in the bathroom and decide to keeping laying. It’s one of the things you do best. Why won’t you come to the door for me? I know the answer already. Please don’t answer.