Last night, I made the mistake of having freshly laundered sheets, and making the bed with them, for the first time since baba left.
Picasso, poor little guy.
I mean, I had no choice, everything really needed to be washed, and badly….. But they were the last vestiges of baba-cooties.
And when they were gone, she was really gone.
I should have been happy about the clean sheets but I was choked up.
Picasso was well beyond choked up. He had been happy all day, but at bedtime with the fresh sheets? Poor little guy. Crying, poking, walking around looking for something, generally being an unhappy mess. The only thing that settled him down was to be in my arms, rocking and holding and holding paws and stroking and petting and reminding him he was the very best Picasso I knew and it was okay.
Sometime early this morning he finally settled down and I slept with him in my arms, dreaming very strange dreams and feeling the murkiness unique to hard won sleep that’s come too late in the day.
