I was already in my car when Luna came running out. When she saw that I hadn’t left yet, she began sobbing.
She climbed in through the passenger car door and crawled into my arms. I held her like she was real small again, carried her back inside. My heart broke a little for her hurt, her vulnerability.
“Are you sad I was going to leave without saying goodbye?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she whimpered. “I wanted to say goodbye.”
“I didn’t want to wake you up,” I explained. “But I’m sorry that hurt you.”
We sat there for another few minutes, the birds outside chirping their happy song, the sun moving higher and higher up in the sky.
Then she got up from my arms and moved to the living room sofa, covered herself with a blanket.
I gave my partner another kiss goodbye, and he sleepily suggested I always say goodbye to Luna in the mornings, even if she happened to still be asleep.
When I walked out to my car, she was at the window, waving, our typical morning ritual. I waved to her and smiled my love for her, hoping she would feel it and carry it with her until we saw each other again.