Seven

Time Heals

Time passes. It's been nearly eight months since Merly died and two months since Callie died, and I no longer flinch when I look at the side of our bed, where Merly chose to camp in her final days, or at the pink papasan chair in my office, which was once Callie's exclusive roost. Neelix is sleeping in the chair right now, all rolled up inside the tunnel bed. Merly is a long ago and fading memory. Her bones rest in the cold woods in a neighboring county. When we drive past those woods on the way to my mother-in-law's, I think of her then and call out that I am near. Poor Callie, I will probably have no occasion to ever visit her resting place at an aunt's home in yet another county. I bought a painting of a calico cat on eBay which has facial colorings very similar to Callie's, so I hope her soul rests there instead of in those distant woods.