It’s around 3 A.M. when I get up to write, a habit of mine if I can’t sleep. I don’t feel lonely often, but for the past few days I’ve had a yearning I can’t seem to quench.
After making coffee, I empty the grounds into a plastic bag to leave outside my door to not forget when I go for my run.
When I open it, who’s sprawled on Mimi’s welcome mat that’s still in front of her door, but Patrick, the cat.
Mimi was our dear neighbor and friend who passed away a while ago, who adored Patrick and would leave him treats, something he clearly remembers.
Pat and I look at each other, and realize what my yearning is all about.
I miss Mimi too.
I creep across the hall in my pjs, picking Patrick up, purring like a motor boat, as a tear slides down my face.
I invite him in for a bowl of milk he accepts, as my gloom takes flight.
God speaks in many languages, doesn’t he, using whatever creature he has on hand.
This is my 2000th blog essay, dedicated to…
Eugenie “Mimi” O’Hagen (1930-2018)