Heather
66
Lying in a haze of pain reducers for the ache in her diseased liver, Heather still luxuriated in the feel of Sophia’s fluffy baby fur. She stroked it as long as Sophia tolerated it. She vibrated with Sophia when she purred. Except for the frequent coughing fits—she just couldn’t kick the cough—and the fairly certain knowledge that she would die at the end of this, she was able to reside in a state of complacency that almost resembled peace. She made music in her head, melodies she played on her banjo back on her Oregonian farmstead, and she most resolutely did not think of anything bad anymore. There wasn’t time for it.
She didn’t miss the Veneta farm. But then maybe she wouldn’t.
She would miss this kitty by her side. Heather stroked and petted and swam her fingertips in So
