The Writer Feels Foreboding

Raine was acting strangely today. He seemed like he was actually remembering something, like I had thought about. What could it be, though?

Well, tomorrow’s departure day. The truck that holds such a … dear spot in my heart has been drained of all gas until my return. Which I’m not sure will even take place, I’m sorry to say.

The house seems empty without my food – and Scooter’s food, for that.

I can tell you, that cat has more treats and toys than he deserves! He has a perfectly good chew rattle, and he goes for my couch instead.

Scooter nuzzled in the crook of my neck, momentarily blinding my vision with different colors of fur and several smells, one of them being mint.

How the Hell does a cat end up smelling like mint? He finally crawled off of me, only to curl up on my lap.

I rolled my eyes in the darkness and placed the journal on top of his back, using him as a makeshift desk.

I don’t know why…but I have a bad feeling that this’ll be my last night in the house – for a long time.

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