THE OLD CAT by Lynette Tucker

I miss the old cat.

I miss the way he greeted me each morning on the porch

his tail snapping and his sharp eyes looking me over to be sure I had made it through the night.

I miss the old cat.

I miss the way he followed me through the garden out to the barn

his cheeks rubbing against the rose bushes and his nose twitching after smelling the peppermint.

I miss the old cat.

I miss him jumping up on the stall door to get my attention while I fed the horses

his body blocking the doorway, creating shadows on the stall floor.

I miss the old cat.

He was my friend, my companion, my fellow gatekeeper.

I miss his morning meow, his brush against my leg, his looks of disapproval and astonishment.

I miss the old cat, and I like to believe, he misses me.