Hoarse

Steel wool sifted sounds.
Gummed up, rubbed hoarse, deafened dumb.
Exhaustion numbed soul.

Still sick, but have to work. Everyone at work in varying stages of being sick, recovering. Even a couple of the surgeons.

Zeppo purrs beside me, accepting a firm massage, his head, his chest, belly, back, in turns, not too much at once. He puts his nose on my nose, with a short, breathy purr that feels like a response to my "I love you." He is becoming who he can be.

Eleanor is on the back of the red chair, flattened out. She knows she'll get time on us tonight, she's in no hurry. She is secure, contented. I think she enjoys having both of us as her humans.

The year goes on, as it does.