Ongoing Life of Fur
I thought I was running late this morning but my time sense is all shifted by the lack of light as clouds decorate the Bajan sky with all the colours of mourning, deep black to the most delicate dove grey. So here I am with time to play and words to fill it with.I have become very attached to Furball, especially when he sinks his teeth into my wrist or the palm of my hand, not breaking skin, holding on with all four paws as though I am his last and greatest hope for...what? I don't know and his mouth is too full to tell me although there is still room for little squeaks and squawks of sound to escape around the corners of his jaws.
This morning I got worried. I had let him out of the bathroom and yet he wasn't chasing all my fingers on the keyboard, was not chewing on my foot or hooking needle claws into my back or leg as he scales the heights I represent to him.
No noise of china, crystal, metal falling in the background, no subtle whir as toilet paper leaves the roll at almost supersonic speeds. Panic whirled my head from side to side and then...there he was. Just sitting at the screened space in the door, staring out, such longing limned in every trembling muscle my eyes teared up. His little nose was pressed so close, the screen would make a waffle of it. He yearned to be OUTSIDE! And while he longed for larger freedoms my life returned to pre-Furball peace.
For almost ten minutes.
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