Editor’s note: This is actually a very old post, from around May of 2005 if I recall. I’m making it live now because it was too painful to make live before, but the attic needs to be swept out from time to time.
I’m writing this even though Coco St. Coco doesn’t read my site that often. I don’t think he’s really feeling the whole blogging craze. I’m hoping that maybe they have internet cafes in doggy heaven and they don’t filter the websites of atheists.
I don’t know if this is an obituary. You’ve been gone for almost a week. You could come back but a part of me lost hope. I stopped leaving the back door open in case you found your way home. It’s locked now. All the flyers we put up — hundreds of them — have fallen down cuz of these torrential rains. Did the rains keep you in the bushes, under cars, causing us to not spot you as we wandered the blocks of this new neighborhood endlessly, such a poor way to familiarize myself with it.
You were the only A+ on the list of things I own. For two years, you were my best friend. You understood me more than anyone, which is to say you didn’t understand me at all, which is still more than anyone. The stairs in this big new house — the one that freaked you out so bad you had to run away — aren’t the same without the sounds of your little claws clittering up ahead of me, ten times faster though you’re ten times smaller.
My favorite memory of you is from early on. We went to Green Streets in The Grove and you ate so much bread and veal (so cruel) and so much other shit. You ate more than your own weight. When we got up to leave, you ran into the restaurant and to the horror of everyone around took a big shit right inside the door. An act of pure uncaring defiance. Those are the moments I remember most.
I don’t know if you’re dead or if you’re bringing the same joy to another family that you brought to mine. In any case, I love you and I will never forget you. I’ll keep some food around in case you decide to come home.