Feels like it's been raining forever, the last time I saw the sun I think Shakespeare was a young man. Thought I'd ease the darkness some if I bought some new food dishes for The Skunk, doing nice things for him almost always makes me feel better. His old plastic dishes are getting ratty and there are no old china dishes. Anything breakable has a short life expectancy here.
So I went to Walmart and picked out some nice food dishes and a new water bowl for him. Taking care of him means a lot to me, means more the older he gets, because I've already decided he will be the last one. I've had cats just about all my life, but I'm too old now. When he's gone I'll have memories.
And I'm sitting here thinking about that, wishing I were sitting in that café on Rue St. Denis with you, holding your hand and looking out at the Montreal rain. Your hair is shot with rainy diamonds, your hands wrapped happily around the hot coffee mug. We were so young, and being young and free was all that mattered. I wish I'd treasured that time more.
The Skunk is curled up against my pillow in a warm soft circle, so perfectly self contained, his own little dreaming universe untouched by the rainy night. He's twitching in his sleep, I think he's dreaming about running. I hope it's a happy dream.
I hope my clumsy hands can keep his world happy, for however long we have left together. I know we've got a lot more time behind us than we do ahead, but if I use the time right I won't end up the ghost of Ralph Kramden, sitting in my bus driver uniform looking out my window at Chauncey Street in the rain, regretting.
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