Friday, January 5, 2007

One of my pets, wrapped in a blanket and placed snugly in a cardboard box, is resting on the countertop now, and while he waits to be buried, I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting for the punchline. The other shoe did drop today.

I’m gripped by regret, the kind where you wonder if you could’ve saved your pet, had you refrained from working later. Five minutes, ten minutes, two, one, something to pay off the debt now fulfilled by apologetic petting.

Falfa and I will make the drive early tomorrow morning to that hallowed backyard where family pets are interred. I’ll check a few more times, but I think he’s serious, and there won’t be a punchline tonight.