Missing Azalea

It's raining out, so we brought Azalea's garland in and hung it on the fireplace.

The house is empty and quiet without her.

The other night I came home from work for the first time since she died. I get home around 12:30am and the neighborhood is silent. For years, I've crept into the sleeping house and there she is. Since she's been deaf, she's usually asleep. I go pet her awake then feed her another meal and let her out for a chance to pee outside.

Not tonight.
There's no pointy ears and bright eyes looking at me from the corner near the fireplace.
"But what is that?" I thought, "brown and furry lying in her sleeping spot?" I tiptoed into the dark living room, closer and closer.

It was my fleece, my brown plush fleece that must have spilled out of the laundry basket.
I stood there in the dark room; it felt like a cruel joke. It was nothing but my stupid jacket.


I can't bear to get rid of her bowls.
My parents came the other day and filled the bowl with water for their dog and my back is too sore to bend over and dump it out.
The bowls are a bit confusing, but still soothing enough to leave there for the time being.

I want a visit from her.
A dream or
something that lets me know she's OK.