slow when I saw her [lying face up] [breath shallow and slow] I knew it was time. as I approached, one tear rolled down her temple and slowly around her ear. I reached out to catch it with the tender pad of my finger but when my skin touched hers I thought I heard a whimper (or maybe a moan) fall out of her mouth. that made me angry I don’t like when they do that I thought she was different better than the others all the ones before though she couldn’t turn her head her eyes found mine and for a moment my breath became very hard to catch I had to turn away then, giving her only my back upon which to stare opening the cupboards, I pulled down my supplies [my tools] jostling them a bit so she would know what I was doing, what was coming. when I faced her again, tray in hand, her eyes were closed, wrinkles forming at the corners from her effort she would not open them again I leant down (softly) whispering -you were my favorite- (gently) brushing my lips against her eyelids (slowly) pressing the damp cloth over her mouth and nose I laid two fingers against the delicate spot on her neck, my thumb resting under her chin. I held the cloth, my fingers, [my own breath] until I felt her heartbeats slow slow stop
Suzanne is currently permitted to share residence with her 16-year-old cat. In between brushing and feeding Miss Poo, Suzanne enjoys trying new recipes, listening to audiobooks, writing, and drinking wine. Her works have appeared in 1807, Bartleby, and Children, Churches, & Daddies.
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