Rafe, our oldest cat, may be dying. He’s having trouble breathing. He
doesn’t want to eat. He hardly wants to move.
I stare for a long time into the sunset. After a long, cloudy day,
the sun breaks under the clouds, clenched tight, burning. But it
doesn’t last. The hand lets go, the light dissipates. For a moment
the whole sky – everything – glows orange, softly, from that light.
I don’t want it to fade – not now – but it does.