The dog took it all in stride. I knew I was allergic to cats when we bought her home. I wake up without congestion. My head feels clearer. But she was so sweet and soft. And full of personality and opinions. And entertaining. And a good mouser.

The mice network spread the word and instead of a mouse chased once every mouse or two, a dozen mice a week. Live trapped, taken 5km away. Week after week.

Here, we can now light a candle without the cat swishing her tail and catching fire.

We can take the blankets off the sofa that were thee to prevent her shredding it.

We don’t have cat pee scent. Or expense of litter and immunizations and tick meds.

Or her caterwauling three hours a day for food or asking us not to drown every time we shower.

Also missing the soft footsteps over the ankles once she thinks we’re asleep. And the warmth of her behind my knees, across my ankles in the night, curled up on my back or stomach when I feel ill.

And the Harley engine of her snore.

The food was given away to a cat rescue, collars, leash and harness, the toys and litter bin to a charity shop. All except her catnip beaver.

I wake up without congestion. My head feels clearer.

I still expect her in the chair.

All I could say of hours was Holy Fuck. She was normal, lively, loud, eating heartily, jumping around on the sofa, from table to chair then tipped over, tongue out, giving a death wail.

She had done this a year before, with gums and tongue pale and panting, but we stroked her by the fire and over the hour whatever seizure it was passed. She ate and drank and the next day seemed normal.

This time we did CPR and nothing. She was breathing then she wasn’t. A matter of minutes. A heart attack we assume.

Inconceivable speed.

We buried her by the pine tree with catnip and a stone to mark her grave.

Fit, Sit.

we watch and learn

what to do with these sticky out parts?

my biscuit

Attention now, now.

I is here.

In the catnip bed where living is good

If I am on it, it is mine