Old habits

I miss Pebbles. You'd think that a couple of months after her death, I'd have gotten over her. And that was how I felt, until recently.

In the past week, I've found myself holding doors open a little longer than I should. I still imagine that she's still puttering about the house. I still look under the tables before sticking my feet under them, and I still wonder what happened to her water dish and food bowl.

I know that she's dead. I remember her being buried, and the sick feeling I got when the first pile of soil was laid upon her. Buried. Dead. 3 feet under. "The End."

Bye Pebbles.