When the two-leg first took Rufus away, I thought I’d never see him again.
They got into the shiny, painted moving machine and moved away, leaving me to sit on the sofa and wonder about where they were going.
Then the moving machine came back, with Rufus inside. I asked him where he went, but, being a dog, he couldn’t understand me.
When the two-leg gave us treats, Rufus got extra. The two-leg spent more time with him that night than he had with Lily or me, combined, all week. He was given a juicy bone for dinner to go along with his kibble.
On some deeper level, I knew something was wrong.
When the two-leg pointed the “camera” at Rufus and began to speak, I tried to listen but his two-leg words were too strange. All I could tell was that his voice was choked up and there were drops of water on his face.
I padded over to Rufus and nuzzled him, and he woofed softly at me. Not for the first time, I wished I could understand doggy talk. I gave a soft meow back, and he shook his head and turned to the two-leg’s shiny metal camera once more.
Then came the next day, when the two-leg once again took Rufus outside and put him in the moving machine. Just like before. They moved away, just like before.
The two-leg came back, just like before. But Rufus was gone.
“He’s gone, Marmite. He’s not coming back.” And though I couldn’t understand much more than my name, I heard the tone of loss and knew that my best friend was gone.
So I meowed to the sky, hoping he could hear me from up there. “I miss you, Rufus.”
~*~*~*~
I just found out on @vicerry’s page that Rufus had to be put down. I watched the vlog and felt so sad that I wrote this little mini-story.
(I hope I did okay with the cat-terms for things, by the way. It was supposed to seem like how a cat would view people things. Feedback is appreciated.)
