Sitting on the couch this morning, the air was cold and my breathing was light. I had judgements to make, so my internal clock told me to rest a little longer. The house was buttoned up tight, but I could still see my breath in the center of the sliding glass door. Outside, the trees were shiny and new, and the bushes leapt every time I felt an itch upon my tail. I suppose that was normal. In a moment of weakness, I included my human. He was playing with the remote, while balancing his coffee. I told myself that this was the last time I would ever be sympathetic. And then it was quiet again. The tenth year was mostly just a series of gray blurs and generic smells, however, year number two felt as rough as the tiny notches on my tongue and as curious as a thought that thumps the skull, and then turns around without a concept to display. I was not at a loss…only a little flustered. Perhaps, there was just too much gravy waiting on my plate. I squirmed away from the pillow and the blanket, it was nice…last night I had been appreciated. Much later, I would lose the remote and then knock the coffee over. I suppose that too was normal. Year number three might not be here soon enough…beyond the thumping…………………..I counted myself amongst the ellipsis of the leaves.