Purring cat

...sprawled on the desk by my right arm, deeply asleep, ear occasionally twitching.

Meanwhile, I am contemplating TIME.
For me, this year, the yohrzeit on the Gregorian calendar has an aura of unreality about it.
Until I began receiving calls and emails, I did not register today as the Gregorian anniversary of Zalman's death (z'l). By the Hebrew calendar, it is not until the 5th of Tammuz, next week; I had been oriented toward that.
I am touched by people's memory and kindness and calls. And by the flower-vendor at the Farmer's Market who, after selling me a lovely mason jar of flowers, arranged a few blossoms in my hair.

Can it have been so long? It was just yesterday.
And---it has been so long. Every cell of me misses him and yearns for him.
His absence is not a mere empty space; it is palpable, and has the textured weight of heartache and grief.

Mishka descended from the desk a few moments ago, for a reason that only she knows. Now she has returned, first contemplating the chair and calculating the leap that would be required to gain the seat, then the desk. Having successfully arrived to lie on the pile of papers beside the laptop, she gives herself a well-deserved cat-bath and rests into a small satisfied purr.
The purr is soporific, and I suddenly want to close up shop and climb the stairs to bed.
Prrrrr. 'Night.