Category: basil hayden

On the Turning Away

My new house is dead silent. I can’t sleep at the moment, a minor issue I find has cropped up since my coma. It’s not a bad thing, I don’t feel anxious or physically bad. Neither too do I feel energetic or purpose driven as if this is some psychological replacement for both the time I was nearly asleep for good or the second chance I was given. I’m just… awake.

Living in the country allows a lot of time for quiet and reflection and I suppose that’s a part of it. I’ve finished up my question list for Wil for Sunday’s Rose City Comic Con panel, and I’m making the drive down to Portland tomorrow to see my friend Mark before I hit the event.

It is, as I said, dead silent around me.

Except for Basil’s snoring, a reminder of the life I’m a steward of and how much happiness he brings me. And the clicking of my keyboard as I write, reminding me these same tools I use to write this are the tools that provide my livelihood. The house itself occasionally makes noise, a squirrel or wandering cat on the roof or the simple sounds that all houses make when talking to you if you remember to stop and listen and not tune them out. (They have their own languages, Houses. Some of them shout like Ollie the weather man, and others whisper.) I can hear my own breathing, a reminder I’m still here. My stomach growls loudly because my medication often makes me want to eat something at odd times.

I go downstairs to grab a piece of fruit from the fridge, conscious of the sound of my bare feet on the wood floor. I can hear the soft whir of the fridge. Outside, despite the late hour, a car drives up the gravel main road.

All these noises and sounds happen all around me typically while I sleep, and now I feel pleasantly sleepy having gotten to sit and experience them for a moment. I finish my snack, turn away and go back to bed.

All the Pretty Moments

Basil Hayden scared the living shit out of me two days ago. He suddenly refused to eat. All at once everything that happened to Remington came back to me, three years later. Aspen had a seizure the night after.

All the stress.

Basil is fine. He just had a bad case of worms. Aspen is fine, the seizure was a normal and a bit overdue part of his epilepsy.

But it struck me hard once again: we are our pets’ stewards. I held Basil, like I held Remington, and I asked him not to leave me. Remington did. He couldn’t hang on. Basil stayed. He wasn’t suffering from the same problem.

He’s looking at me right now, wondering why I am misty eyed while Aspen barks in the corner, unable to hear himself.

We are their stewards.