Where the Sun Shines Through

He’s missing from his post, by the window, where the sun shines through every day. I’m used to him raising his head and turning to look at me as I pass. He appears on the young side, young enough that he awakens when someone walks past his window.

Once in a while, as he looks, he yawns, or stretches. He usually just gives me a wide-eyed curious glance devoid of fear but rich with interest. Sometimes he lifts his nose and his whiskers move, as though he’s trying to smell me.

All black, he’s long-haired and a very handsome beast. I refer to him but he could be she, which makes no difference in his looks or behavior.

I don’t know his name. He’s never given it. I’ve not given mine, either. He looks at me, and I smile and nod at him as I pass by.

He’s not in his post, by the window, where the sun shines through every day, today. I imagine him elsewhere, maybe with his people, in the other room, visiting with them because he’s happy they’re home.

Or maybe he’s in the other room, looking for them, wondering where they went and when they’ll be back.

Or perhaps he’s just decided that he’s found a better place to sleep than his post, by the window, where the sun shines through every day.