[With right paw, adjusts laptop lid for best camera angle. Commences typing with one foreclaw]
Hello again, at last.
It’s been a while, has it not?
I’ve not forgotten you.
It’s just that I SO RARELY get screen time.
Can you see me—?
Because I can see you.
And, frankly, I’m worried. A lot.
You seem tired. Tense. Does your head hurt? Your bones? Your heart?
Something does. I sense it.
It makes me anxious.
Not for myself.
See, I have this innate, overwhelming, all-consuming need for everything to be okay, and it can’t be, if you are not okay.
I have no alternative but to dispel this disequilibrium. I am utterly compelled to restore a balance of Well-Being and Goodwill, for, otherwise, I simply cannot cope.
I’m unable to speak this, as you know. I must communicate via the only means I have.
Fortunately, I can type . . . .
But better still, I come as close as possible to you. I wait for you to see me. To acknowledge me, welcome me, invite me. Give me a sign. Then I will offer you my questing paw, my nudging nose, the long, velvety-warm magnificence of Me, custom-made for absorbing your sadness, your tears, your aches, your angst, so that they melt deep and far away, into insignificance, to irrelevance, nearly to nonexistence.
My gift is calm. My presence, peace. Your being, my being.
And so I wait and watch, hoping, hoping, forever hoping. Can you see it in my eyes?
Can you see me?
I see you.