Your black coal fur clumps in the corner.
My grumbling echoes off the walls.
I’m constantly running.
Opposites in character and form.
I often mumble; your pacing and persistence, my chagrin.
Yet now, as your health deteriorates
and surgery is tangible
while our wallet is not,
I think of all the ways these past two years have been unfair.
Please know that as I let you go, or even just preparing to, I’m wanting to hold on
and in my heart, I always will.