The Swing the Day after

July the 2nd 2017 at 5:30am. I have just returned home from work and he's not here to greet me... it is silent and sad. I grab a cup of coffee and head into the back yard to sit on mine and his swing... but I sit alone.

Drops of dew hang on the overhead swing. Occasionally one will fall and hit me on the head. It is as if the swing weeps with me missing his presence as well.

I know he was just a cat, but little OJ and I had formed a ritual of sorts over the years he was here. He wasn't a ordinary cat for he would lie in my lap as we sat together on the swing and purr and smile that little sideways smile and go to sleep.

It's been 13 hours or so since he went away to the land of his brothers, but as I sit here in silence alone and with each gentle rock I take on the swing another drop of dew lands on my forehead rolling down my face mingling with my own tears.

For me, he was a soft furry pleasure that never caused any trouble. If I close my eyes, I can still see him jump the fence to come and greet me when I pulled into the drive; tail straight in the air. I would then reach down and give him a pet and he would turn and run trying to beat me to the swing.

Now only the darkness of morning, the clinging dew drops and a swing that is missing what once was. I open my eyes and he's there, but there only by the love I had for him.
Again yes again I live in a place that's all to familiar, a place where only memories remain.

J. Allen Wilson ©
7/02/2017