I’m still hearing the phantom click clack of Maggie walking around. And hearing phantom scratches at the sliding door.
I still expect to see her laying in the sun on the couch and I still try to throw food scraps to her.
I look for her when I’m preparing to sit on the couch and I expect to see her under my feet.
Every random noise in the house is now never her.
Some moments are easy. Some are getting easier. And some are still unbelievably hard.
