One hair

One hair. That’s all there’s left of Spike by now.
Every time I use my calculator I’m looking at it. It’s stuck in the middle of the display.

Every now and then it still hits me like a hammer that he’s gone.
I still look behind me when I roll my office chair backwards to avoid rolling over his legs. When I come home it’s still too silent.
In the garden his paths between the plants are fading away. I don’t like gardening anymore without my helper.

You see, here's that hammer again.