Last night, on a long-past-midnight trip to the toilet, I found
the bathroom door half closed.
More than a dozen years ago, I buried in the raw earth at the edge
of a sage and juniper hill near my house, a small and playful cat female named Soda.
Soda often spent her nights scampering around the house, opening
all of the lower kitchen cabinets, opening the bi-fold closet doors, and hiding
under throw rugs. She also liked to
sneak behind the bathroom doors—leaving them swung half closed.
When I reached the bathroom door last night, I thought: “What if I try to push open the door and Soda
runs out from behind? What will I do?”
I actually stopped there for a few moments, contemplating.
— Mitchell Hegman
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