Ryan Kauffman

Wally looks up at me,
his eyes full of unconditional affection.
My shoulders sag
and the thought hits me;
he is aging seven times faster than me,
or so we commonly say.

I wonder if he knows
life will come to an end,
he will only live in this moment once,
and someday even I will cease to exist.
Probably not, how could he?
He’s just an animal, but then again, he might.

But for the time being
he sits next to me,
his tiny rib-cage expanding with each heavy breath.
His mouth is open,
showing only his top teeth, like a child’s smile,
and his tongue flaps back and forth with each rush of air.

I stop petting him
and his head dips to nudge my still hand.
I smile, and run my fingers through his white fluff,
thinking about my own search for pleasure.
Mine will have to wait, I decide,
because he has less time than I do.