The memory of smoke

The memory of smoke

Tuesday, January 28, 2020

River of piss

Dreamed I smelled cat urine, and saw that Moby had peed in the dining room, a puddled stream half way across the room, squatted at one end. And I was anguished that we'd let him get that ill that he was so completely incontinent. Dylan was glad to see him alive, but I had to take him aside and say "We are hallucinating. Moby died in my arms right here months ago. This isn't real."

I'm still grieving. I weep. I don't miss the piss, but I will never stop missing the great soul of that cat.

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