It’s a week since Cosmo died. It doesn’t seem that long.
The things I have, at times, looked forward to without him seem a little hollow, as if part of the heart of our home has gone.
I can walk into the living room without looking for puddles – or worse – on the wood floor. I have put away the bucket and mop. We can keep the warmth in the house now we don’t have to leave the back door open. I can get to my computer without taking a large, sometimes perilous, step across Cosmo’s bed.
I have stored his bed in the rafters of the garage. The towel we kept by the back door to dry him off if he had come in from the rain is on the line (in the rain).
His blankets have been washed and stacked in a corner.
His bowls have been washed, but sit empty (for when Jock comes to stay again).
His treats are still in a basket on top of the fridge.
His collar and lead are by the front door.
The bag holder is also ready by the door, convenient for setting out on a walk.
And this is on the back door:
Cosmo had soft little dark ears and nose like that, a ginger tinge to his rough coat, a white patch on his chest, and deep brown eyes, but never an expression which was quite so malicious – although a hedgehog or rabbit might disagree.
We miss him.