It's unreal.
Her litter box sits there, empty, in its rightful place. Her food and water dishes, empty, sit stacked on her Pringles placemat. The floor creaks, but not because she's walking by. She's not climbing the Christmas tree, she's not batting at anything that moves, she's not hiding out under the table. She's not curled up on anyone's lap.
This is the hardest thing.
This is the hardest thing.