When we brought you home,
you were a tiny ball of fur,
full of life.
You filled our days with affection,
and ran away often.
We chased you down the streets,
into alleys,
and backyards.
You ran into scary traffic.
We bothered the neighbors,
and screamed your name
until we were hoarse.
We got into the habit
of looking around for you,
every time we opened the front door.
You always came home though,
and we forgot to be angry.
As the years passed,
we aged together,
and all of us became comfortable
with our bond.
You slowed down
as you aged,
and no longer felt the wanderlust
that gave you the urge to run.
We no longer watched the front door
anxiously when it opened.
When you died,
it was a blessing that your pain was gone.
But, maybe the pain just transferred to us.
We feel it every day.
More than once,
it has occurred to me that you have been
in my life,
for as long as my human wife and family.
What curse leaves me on this planet,
after you both have gone to heaven?
Sometimes I think
that waiting here to see you both again,
looking for signs of your presence,
is my penance for my sins.
Will you forgive them? 