The man always awoke with sadness. Three cats on the bed, and sadness.
It would come in many different shades, but it was always there. Using him like a pin-cushion, the sadness never left him without a small piercing.
All being a bit older now, the feline crew of Finn, Francesca, and Bubbles rarely tried to rise before their human broke slumber. The cats would accompany him while he drank in the evenings, and they would accompany him to breakfast at twelve-thirty PM as well.
First, the man would take three paracetamol tablets with water, while the cats yowled on the topic of their panging bellies. He then fired up a medium-sized fry pan for four eggs. Three for him, and one for the discerning palate of Francesca.
The boys – Finn and Bubbles – they were content with chicken mince, pre-cooked and packaged away in the fridge by the man’s maid and cook Georgia. She prepared seven days of meals for the cats, and four dinners for the man. He could solve his own hunger for the other three days. Canned beans and belts of whisky usually did the trick. Not that belts of whisky weren’t already part of his routine.
Once a week, at least, he would cook himself a steak with some greens. A usual weekly habit involving a bottle of red from the cellar (he was hinged on getting through the countless bottles before he expired), and something aurally pleasing by Mozart. He gravitated towards Requiem incessantly, but found himself leaning towards Don Giovanni of recent.
For the man, the morning (midday) coffee was taken in his armchair in the living room. For a period of two weeks he succumbed to staring off into space while he drank his post-snooze java. Attempting to put his mind in neutral, he would stare into the unlit fireplace, hoping the images and thoughts would not manifest themselves again. It never worked. Eventually the terrible feelings would erupt from his mind and through his body.
So, he took up the habit of completing a crossword daily. He would stroke his grey whiskers with one hand, hold the pen with the other, and remind himself of how his mother lived her last years under the curse of Alzheimer’s.
The man had read somewhere that the frequent application to crossword puzzles was a way to keep the mind occupied and sharp, and to ward off any beginnings of dementia.
He sewed himself to this general idea of healthiness every day. Mind, body, and soul; he tried to look after himself during the day, because during the night, he sure as hell did not.
Day-by-day he would eat in a wholesome manner with the help of Georgia’s cooking. He would exercise for thirty minutes minimum, and he would take an hour long walk on the beach with Finn if weather permitted. (Finn was the only one brave enough to walk the sand with the man, and confront the gulls if he had to.)
Night-by-night, the man persisted to dull his memories with wine and Scotch. Any observer would assume this man was trying to kill himself, poison himself into an eternal sleep, but the man forged on and thought nothing of the risks he put upon himself. He would wake up the next morning. He always did.
He would wake up to the thought of never seeing his Bonnie ever again. She was gone and he could barely fathom living another twenty-four hours without his princess.
Each day would begin for the man with a wetted cheek. A solitary tear, or sometimes two, would roll down and hit his pillow as he gazed at the side of the bed she was meant to be in. He imagined her long dark hair softly spilled across the ivory pillow. And her delicate scent he so badly wanted to bring back.
The man shook and shivered as he recalled the very last time that he held her in his arms. All taken away so quickly, he now understood there would only be a life of darkness without his true light.
But Bonnie would have wanted him to persevere, never give up. She only ever wanted the utmost happiness for him, so he tried, and he soldiered on through the days the only way he knew how to.
On hands and knees he crawled through an abyss, not knowing what to hope for, not knowing if things could ever be better, but he crawled onward anyway…
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