One dark and stormy day, Mr. Williamson stared through a foggy window, looking at the waving branches of the pine trees. He sighed. If only it weren’t for the storm, he could be outside, looking for his lost love. He dragged his slippered feet towards the tiled kitchen. Pouring himself a cup of week-old coffee in a never-washed mug, he sat down and stared sadly at the empty bowl.
“Ah. Once upon a time, my dearest ate here.” he murmured to himself, a lump rising in his throat.
Mr. Williamson continued, walking towards his own bedroom, scattered with clothes and ties. His bed was unmade and disheveled, and he hadn’t worn a tie in a while.
“Ah. Once upon a time, my dearest would snuggle with me here,” he said out loud, remembering the good times.
He stepped through the bathroom door, scanning the unwashed bathtub with mold growing on it, and dry toothpaste-covered toothbrush. An unused towel and bar of soap lay lonely on the ground. He looked into the mirror and saw his sunken face. His beard was white and unshaven, and his hair was oily and black.
“Ah. Once upon a time, my dearest would bathe here. She hated bathing,” he said, becoming anxious. Why wasn’t she back yet? Where was she? How could she leave him without saying goodbye?
Mr. Williamson stepped into the family room, once filled with togetherness and love. Marks of “her” were still there. Her favorite things. Her bed.
“Ah! Once upon a time, oh once upon a time, my dearest would sleep here! Play here! Be happy here! Where have you gone? Where have you gone? ROSIE!!!” he screeched, tearing at his oily hair, tears welling up in his eyes. “Now NO ONE will love me! NO ONE will be there for me! How could you do this?” saying so, he crumpled to the ground in his despair.
Suddenly, there was a scratch at the door. Scratch. Scratch scratch. Scratch scratch scratch. Mr. Williamson frowned. Who would be here? No one liked Mr. Williamson; he was the grumpiest man in the neighborhood. Mr. Williamson scrambled through the house, splashed water on his face, and quickly combed his hair. He brushed his teeth, and tidied the kitchen and family room. He rushed over to the door, and quickly opened the door. Then, he gasped.
“AHHHHH!!! ROSIE! Oh! My dearest ROSIE! You’ve come back to me!” saying so, Mr. Williamson scooped up a bundle of brown, soft, fur, with a happy wagging tail attached to it. “Rosie! You little cutie-pie! You’ve come back to me!”
Mr. Williamson stepped into his house, and began to take out the vacuum. “We’ve got some cleaning to do!” laughed he. With that, Mr. Williamson squatted down, and patted his dearest puppy’s head.