memoriam.

 I sit here in my little corner, cup of cocoa and book in hand, thinking of Koko. Thinking of each of my babies. But I recall dinner time and how in the chaos of Link’s cries and Kiki’s pleas, there was a missing voice.  A missing auditory note that my hard hearing ears long for—Koko’s meow. His cries for his can of soft food followed by a lapping of goats milk. My quick grab of his tiny frame and dish, and rushing to the window before the other animals see his hiding space. This spot, hidden by plants on a four level wooden stand allowed him to finish his meal in peace. No younger cats to fight off, no dogs trying to grasp his dish with their paws, just him eating. I miss his meow. And I know I always will. But I haven’t cried today, not quite. I feel the tears prickling my lids, but they stay put. Because if not for the photos and recordings, the memories keep me company in my solemn days. I miss him, but I continue with his meow playing in my ears, sometimes waking me in the dead of a dreary night.