In the silence, in the absence of Sylvia, her spirit lingers here.
I hear the gentle clacking of her paws on the wood floors, the rattle of her collar as she shakes off a doze on her bed or even just the soft sound of her movements, her presence.
These objects she left behind, the squeeky toys, plush blankets, fur tumbleweeds in the corners of the room are reminders, but what really sticks in my mind and to my soul are these sounds only I can hear.
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