9 Lives

          The day of the funeral, I couldn’t eat. I had been gobbling up everything in sight since the day of her death, but now I grimaced just looking at food. Pastries, pasta, and pineapple appeared rotten and tasted even worse. Food I used to eat without a gasp for breath now made me sick to my stomach. Watching her people get ready in her bedroom made me gag, but I knew I was just jealous. I wanted to say goodbye to her, I wanted to see her one last time like they were about to, and I wouldn’t be scared. No, I would be on my best behavior. I had seen death before and I wasn’t scared of it. I didn’t feel anything with her gone, I didn’t feel the pleasure of food anymore. Maybe it was the nerves, maybe I had eaten all that my soul could hold, who knows. The emptiness had felt all consuming, but now I was full. 

          I never refused food from her, she had always smiled and put her love into it, so who was I to say no? 

          She left me ten days ago. Ten days of wondering when she was coming back, watching her people come and go, all in black and drenched in tears. The last time I had seen her, she was crying, telling me how sorry she was. Why was she sorry? All I wanted was to see her smile once more, I wanted to hear her guttural laugh that used to scare me when I first became hers. Her loud but precious laughter would echo through the apartment and make me feel whole inside. It felt as though my heart were alive, dancing within my bones that had only known to shiver before meeting her. Now, the cold was back. I couldn’t understand why she left, why someone had to take her away and leave me empty. Maybe she was empty too, and I was feeling what she felt. I hoped she was watching me like I used to watch her from my window post. I loved watching her cook and dance to her favorite songs. Her smile would grow and grow like the dogs I had met during my long years on the streets. The years in which I didn’t dare believe in love or what it could hold. Those were the years I learned all I did, the years the ones I lost lives in. Human and otherwise. 

          Eleven days without her and her people enter frequently, whispering sweetened sorries into my ears before leaving me with food that I wouldn’t eat. It smelled fresh, but it would never taste the same as when she prepared it, as love was not a part of the recipe, just a deep sadness that overtook my body and left it paralyzed. They tried everything from special canned goods to handmade meals, but all I could do was lay still with my eyes closed and hope that she would walk in through her painted doors and say something I would never understand. I wanted to feel her warm fingers trace long lines down my spine as she felt my fur, rifling through it as though she were feeling it for the first time. I wanted to hear her secrets again, wanted her to talk to me as though I were like her and could answer. I wanted to try harder to understand her. Did I not try hard enough? Did I not love her enough?

          Twelve days without her and I felt as though I’d been run over by a semi. My body shook with every person who entered, I hid from them, pretending not to exist. I wanted them to leave me, let me imagine she was still here, still here to love me, but they never stopped coming. Food was left in various dish sizes, with the contents beginning to look more and more extravagant with each day that passed, but it still wasn’t from her, the love that I used to feel was missing.

          Thirteen days later, the people kept crawling in like roaches, despite me trying to get them to go away. I wanted peace, I wanted her to have peace. By the fourteenth day, they had tried all types of dishes, but I refused to eat. I couldn’t stop the emptiness from crawling up into my bones, leaving my core completely frozen. I wanted her back; I needed her back. I missed purring into her stomach, her small fingers playing with my ears as I dreamt of us on mystical adventures. I wanted those days back, why did they have to end so soon?

          Fifteen days without her and I am taken away. I hiss and claw, something I haven’t done in years. I fight against my captors until I’m forced into a dark box, my senses jumble leaving me frozen with terror. I cry, hoping to go back home, hoping for her to rescue me from this nightmare. When the box is finally opened, I find myself in a new place with new smells and a new person. She stares at me with saddened eyes and whispers honeyed words like she used to, and I think, maybe this will be okay. This new girl appears to have love within her like she did, and she smells familiar, like an old friend I haven’t seen in years.

Amarú Connor Yuré is a freshman at USC and an aspiring writer. She hopes to write both prose and poetry. You can follow Amarú on Instagram here.