The smallness of his little life snuffed out in an instant as the needles' contents infuse slowly into his leg.
Gone in a second, his body lies empty, a case, a shell with the essence lost suddenly from within him.
It seems so amazing (as I gaze upon the empty body) that we are all made up of something we cannot see, for when it is gone the body is but an object.
Where did it go, that essence of him?
Is it in that small place in the garden under the rosemary bush or behind the fennel where he used to nap?
Or in the corner by the fence where he would bake for a while in the sun?
Or is it on the landing where he found comfort last night?
Or on my bed, that lovely warm lump curiously heavy, by my legs in the waking hours of the dark?
Everywhere I look there is a trace of him, a memory, a feeling and now a loss.
I clean out his bowls for the last time,
Gather up his toys
and store them away.
My beautiful boy, at peace now.