Grief.

The wind has calmed some. The tree outside my window is more at rest. The rain is coming down now, light and fresh.
Cozy is sprawled out in front of the fire. I don’t think one little cat could take up much more space than she is.
Badger and Doc are curled around to either side of her, their wet paws letting off a little steam as they dry. I might sleep here, in my chair. I am content.
Of course if I move, Badger and Doc will leap up and rush to the door barking. They’ve been doing that for a few days now. I don’t know why.
We’ve had no visitors for weeks. Not since.
Maybe they think you are coming back?
Oh wait, we have had one visitor. Alice came by. Two days ago I think. Maybe more. I can’t quite recall.
This is of course part of the problem. She looked at me like she was waiting for me to say something important. I really didn’t know what she wanted.
She brought me supplies. She told me that she was going away for a little bit. She said I must conserve my wood, unless I wanted to go out and cut my own.
I’m shaking again. Only Doc notices this time.
His little shaggy head lifts from the carpet and he eyes me for a moment, then he drops it back down and sighs gently.
What was I waiting for?
The kettle?
No. I can hear nothing from the kitchen.
I was waiting for something. I’m sure I was.
I’ve spilled ink on the blanket over my knees. Ink? When was I using ink? My right hand has ink stains as well. Was I writing?
Waiting for you. I am waiting for you. You said you would be back in an hour.
Was that today? No. That was a long time ago. Months.
The chair creaks as I change position. The fire snaps.
I’m still waiting.