The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one’s own, or real life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life…what one calls one’s real life is a phantom of one’s own imagination.

— C. S. Lewis

And those “interruptions” come in every shape and size. A most poignant one for me this week was the quiet departure of a small but treasured companion, mottled gray with tiger markings. She was 21. How intimacy that profound can happen completely outside of language is a mystery to me, but at some point you find yourself in a transcendent, species-less oneness. She was my cotraveler to that place, my four legged soul mate.

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