My loyal bed partner of 13 years is in the hospital. It doesn't look good. He woke me up when he missed the mattress last night and let out a howl. He was exceptionally light to pick up, laid lifelessly in my arms, and put forth his best effort to make a purr. He started to fall one side every time he tried to move, then I had to take him in. The day has gone by more slowly than a usual Sunday. Thoughts and memories dominate.
The sadness is picking up harmonics from several losses ago. One such was a mentor who called Chester and his littermates "perfect genetic specimens." That mentor died three years ago at a way too young age from a stroke. Chester then picked up an added role as souvenir.
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