Percy’s Lament

And just like that, they vanished again.  

There’s only the two who feed me and look after me. They make sure I’m healthy and fix me when I’m not.  

And I love them for it. I’m grateful for it; for them. But the ones who hold my heart are gone again. They come with their suitcases, smaller and lighter each time. And they leave just as fast as they came. 

They now have their own loves. Their own companions. I know they still care for me. They still pet me and say pretty things in sweet voices. But their hearts have been taken up by creatures and humans they call their own. I’m a welcome guest in hearts that used to be all mine.  

Frankie’s mom stayed for a while this time. I put up with Frankie a lot better now that he’s a little older, but he’s still a bit of a troublemaker. Barking to get attention, getting into her things and flinging socks, underwear, and yes, even a pill bottle all over the place. Good thing my humans didn’t take me to get my stomach pumped. I would have given that rascal a talking-to. 

I know she still loves me. But the way she looks at Frankie, snuggles him, attends to him. That’s next level. Motherly. But I love that she now lets me snuggle with them and play with him more freely. I like roughing him up a bit once in a while. He likes it too. It’s fun having them around, except of course when she gives him one of those heavenly sticks that make me lose my mind. It was kind of rude when my humans propped open my mouth and extracted one from the back of my throat. That stick was rightfully mine after I stole it from Frankie’s mouth.  

My boy-mate only came a couple of days. I could tell my humans were sad about that. So was I. There was a big void in our hearts, which I tried to fill by giving human-mom some extra snuggles. Still, I missed not sauntering down to the basement to sleep with him each night or having our extended binge sessions on the couch, my chin fitting perfectly on his foot. I did sneak into his room a couple times just to smell him. His presence had faded a little, but I could still feel him and that made me feel warm inside.  

It makes my heart glad that he got past his sadness. I sense his strength and purpose, his centeredness. He will thrive and I know he will do good things for all creatures. I wish I could live much longer to see his life unfold. The bond we forged when he was at his saddest, alone in that basement, holding so much hurt, so much need for love and understanding, is etched in my heart and in every cell of my body. He is part of me as I am part of that phase in his life. We got through it. Together. 

And the little one. I still remember when I sat on her lap at my dog-mom’s house and I knew I had found a home. She and I grew up together. From child to young woman, she never lost her sweetness and her tenderness. I was a bit confused, but she taught me a few things this last time. I’m annoyed I’m not supposed to jump, but she spent a lot of time playing games and teaching me to climb those silly plastic stairs. Seriously, people, I can still jump. Geez.  

She seemed especially fond of hiding treats in those cups. I humored her, especially once I realized I got to eat the treats. I’ll do whatever they want for food. It’s been slim pickings since I got my tummy rumbles, so anything new they decide to give me is a bonus.  

But no matter how much I showed my love, how much I made my monster noises and shook their hands, snuggled and nuzzled them, they still brought out those suitcases and filled them up again. One by one, they left so early in the morning. The older humans telling me they’d be back, only to come back with heavy hearts, a hesitation in their steps, and a new tear in their souls they tried to hide.  

I know they tried their best to love their little humans. But life is a cycle of gain and loss. I hope the now-big little humans come back soon, but I know each time they do, they’ll have grown bigger wings. They’ll come less. Stay for less time. As their worlds get bigger, less time here will be enough for them. But never for me. I’ll never forget the times when I could check on each one of them before they fell into their slumber, and I could go nudge them awake before they were ready to start their days. Nothing sweeter than when they were all here. More and more, I rely on those memories as a scant proxy for the real thing. 

I don’t know how long I’ll stay. I can tell my older humans get a lump in their throats thinking of when I’m gone. That’s why I push myself to be exuberant and to wake them with my monster noises every morning. I want them to remember me like this. I want to give them as many days like these as I can. Even when my joints are hurting a little, or when my back creaks, or when my tummy is off.  

But I can tell I’m getting tired longer. I sleep deeper. I find sunny spots where time beats faster.  

My love doesn’t get tired though. And while no measure of present love can take away the sorrow of my future passage, I hope when the rawness of my absence gives way to the bittersweet permanence of loss, they will remember, above all, how deeply they were loved.