Storme Monologue

I can still smell him on the bed; the left side to be specific. It smells like coffee, and that cologne that makes me sneeze. He used to take me on walks. He’d sometimes take me walking outside the city traffic and would let me off my leash. Like a rocket I’d weave through the trees, jaw slack, tongue lolling to the side I’d go and go and my name is Storme with a silent “e” at the end. He taught me tricks. Sit, paw, stay, down. I learned them all. I am a very smart dog! And when you would finally emerge from the bedroom, we very much wanted to show you how smart I was. He’d grin and grab your hand and say,
“Look! Watch what Storme learned!” and I’d sit, stay, paw, down. We’d both look at you, wanting your approval, needing it. But you’d dismiss us, tell Him to teach me how to pay bills.
I remember before He came. I remember the ones who left. I remember the one’s who weren’t Him. They came into our bed and left it in the same manner, quickly. Cat would lie outstretched at the end of the bed, judging. I just wanted them to like me. And every time a new one came it would be the same routine.
I learned tricks. I am such a smart boy! His beard and body were my favorite. A big beard I could burrow in. A big body I could rest on. Yours is so bony, all limbs and angles and elbows. But His — my God. A dog could get used to that. He helped you stop weeping. He always brought me leftovers. We were both in love.
Cat even liked Him. She hardly likes anyone. He’d stroke her behind the ear, above the tail and she’d purr. One day, He brought her this toy mouse full of what he called “kitty meth.” She became feral with that mouse. Bug eyed and crazy and chased it throughout the house. I’ve never seen Cat act like that before. Front to back to side to side to front to side to back. All over, throughout every room she ran. Afterward, embarrassed by her display, she spent the rest of the week on the couch, lounging and grooming, not looking at