I sat outside. Chair slightly rocking back and forth. A thick layer of scarves and blankets kept me warm. I held hot chocolate in my old hands. The garden was also covered in a blanket of cold white snow, perfectly even. I sat safe from the wind.
I miss him. Blacky I called him. I know, not very creative. But if that name fit anyone, it was him. His fur was completely black. Friendly green eyes and pink paws. He understood how to sneak up to an old lady. His paw prints in the snow were always the first thing I noticed, not him himself, despite the heavy contrast to the snow. I never found out where he actually came from. I knew he loved snow. He would jump around in it, attack it, run from it. But when he was cold and tired, he always rested on my lap. A purring black furball that kept me outside for hours. Back and forth we rocked. I stroked his cold fur and watched the pine trees move in the wind until I fell asleep too. When I woke up he’d be gone.
He hasn’t come back for days and I was left with the memories. I never seemed to fall asleep sitting outside since then. His absence always kept me awake. The trees moved in the wind. The snow was still perfectly even.