he found us in a parking lot in Lemon Grove on a Tuesday in March.
he was the size of a tangerine. he hissed. he had ONE eye open.
we picked him because he picked us first.
domestic shorthair · approx. 11 lbs (heavy on the loaf)
transcribed faithfully on a tuesday in june, 2019. mostly accurate.
a partial accounting of his crimes, his trips, his vet bills, his choices.
he got 15 years. some of them were big years. most were quiet ones, which were the best ones.
i think about how you found us before we found you. how the parking lot was loud and you were small enough to fit in dad's hand and you bit him anyway, immediately, on principle.
i think about how you crossed the country with me. how we shared every apartment i ever rented. you were on the lease at three of them. (you didn't help with rent.)
i think about your specific weight on my chest at 6am. i think about how the apartment is the right temperature now and i hate it.
i think about how you were a small loud opinionated guy and you were also, somehow, my quiet. you were the thing the day landed on. for fifteen years.
good boy. good boy. good boy.
— m, april 2024
this book was made by hand,
mostly at the kitchen table,
mostly on weeknights, after work,
with the radiator clicking,
and the empty chair in the window.
bound & kept by Margaret Allen
Astoria, Queens · spring 2024