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  • Even though Roscoe passed in June he visits me in dreams. I buried him outside my window in the garden where I am reminded of my mortality, and that my friend is now bones and fur 3 feet down. I now have a hummingbird feeder.

    Last night the old guy came and let me pet him for a good long time. His fur, thick, the way I remember it. He liked it as much as I did. Even though other people were around I knew I was the only one who could see and feel him.

    He lives between worlds and sometimes visits me through other cats I find on the street. The love continues, silently.
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