A Tiny Loss

The little one needed me. And to be honest, I needed her.

“Why is she laughing? What could possibly be funny about this situation? Does she know how hard it was for me to do this?”

I sat there looking at my family and wondered about human nature. How strange it was. The eldest daughter was laughing, the middle one was crying and I don’t know where they left the youngest. The mum and dad just stood there awkwardly with the dad occasionally trying to hit me. What a strange reaction to loss!

I found my friend lifeless in the grass and I was crushed. She was my little playmate who I both loved and feared in the same breath. Her whole body might be the size of my head but she was my friend. She was in denial but she loved me. We were meant to be. She was mysterious and intent on being independent. But the little one needed me. And to be honest, I need her.

My heart bleeds.

When I brought her to the family, I didn’t expect the reception I received. The dad tried to hit me and the rest started screaming. Why do humans do that? Act in the exact opposite way that you expect? All I was trying to do was to show them that our friend was gone. I was sharing my sadness. They don’t seem to be too bright.

I’ll just sit and sulk until they come to their senses.

“OMG, dad, I think he was trying to show us that she is dead. He couldn’t have done it. If he did, he wouldn’t have brought her here. They were friends. He liked her.” Said the eldest.

They started crowding around me and the younger one tried to hug me. I don’t like that actually. It spikes my anxiety. Just rub my belly. Or my hair. The rest is unnecessary.

The middle child run to our little friend and started to cry. At least she understands me. I knew I always liked her. Even though she is the hugger. I might need to have a word with her about that.

The elder sister started laughing. I don’t know why she does that. Mask her pain with laughter. I see it all the time. But her eyes are sad. She hides deep sorrow. Finding ways to make light of heaviness is a hidden inability to deal with strong emotions.

She starts to pet me with the most gentle strokes. She gets silent and my heart breaks for her.

Tiny. That’s what I called her. My dead friend. She hated it but loved it. Feline stubbornness is hilarious. She was a good friend. I don’t know why she went for a walk without me. I would have protected her from those vile dogs. Her insistence on independence makes no sense. Isn’t playing and togetherness more fun?

Mum has warmth in her eyes. She took the longest to warm up to having pets but I can tell she loves us. I love it when her eyes show it. She doesn’t like to pet me. Physical touch scares her. It would scare me too if all the touch I knew was aggressive. She’s the saddest one. Even more than the eldest daughter. But she stays strong for the family. I don’t know how I can help her.

I’d like to play but I’m sad. I’ll sit here and think about my friend. Then maybe I can play again tomorrow.

Today’s Prompt: Write a story from the Point of view of a pet.

This piece is part of my daily writing prompts challenge. I wrote about our dog called Snowy. Feel free to share your comments on what you felt after reading this. I’d love your feedback.

Thank you for reading. :)