My Meg

My Meg is gone.
My sweet orange girl.
Her thick fur,
with it's distinctive tabby dots and dashes,
I loved to rub and bury my face against
The special warm clean scent of that coat in the sunshine.
Her baby soft ears, and the base of them where I'd kiss her.
Those keen clear green eyes, trying to avoid a direct gaze.
All her meows I knew so well.
Her kissing rasping tongue on my fingers in our early morning cuddle.
The insistent but gentle head butt when she wanted me to get out of bed already.
Those petal pink too delicate paws,
holding up that triangle of body mass
incongruously
Twelve years.
Twelve years I've read her,
learned her,
pulled her out of her shell,
moved her state to state to state and house to apartment to room
made her roommates with so many
other
people
and made her share my attention with first,
one bird,
then my boy, Sean,
and then one more bird.
She'd avoid the birds
to avoid getting tempted to stalk them.
Her chattering at things outside,
perched in a window,
all that round plumpness,
somehow steady in the narrow sill.
Her easy jump up on the bed
and settle down next to my pillow,
curved perfectly to fit my arm,
my face pressed against her warm side,
breathing her peace and absolute coziness in
hoping it would come to rest in my own soul.
My Megamous. My Nutmeg. My baby girl.
I miss you, sweet girl.
I miss kissing your nosy. When you acted like you hated it.
I miss your head pushing against my hand, getting me to scratch your chin.
I miss talking back and forth to your mews.
I miss you being lost under the covers,
a summer cocoon of color and oh so dreamy under there,
but never so adorable as fluffed under the eiderdown
in winter.
I miss you, my Meg.
I'll always miss you.
And I'll have the bittersweet joy
of seeing you
in my dreams.