Waiting for a Sign

Two full weeks of chemo treatment.

 Two weeks of waiting.  Waiting for a sign – any improvement.

 Too early? 

 Is it too late?
 

 As I write this, Toby sits on my old drop front desk, staring at me to pay him any attention, his eyes intent on my face. But I’m thinking and typing and thinking….

 Papers begin sliding out of the pigeon holes. Slowly at first, a furry paw reaching in and sliding out a bill to be paid, or a letter from a friend still unanswered. No response from me, as I'm still ruminating on life right now. Toby escalates.

I watch as Toby bites the corner of an envelope, slowly pulling it out of its appointed slot, and gives it a shake, like killing prey (something he has never done, that we are aware.) He turns and looks at me.  Head strokes must now be given, before he pulls out the remaining items and ruins my filing system.  Satisfied, he gets down, curls up on an old Japanese camphor chest… and waits for me. For what I do not know.

 And so we wait, looking for a change. Hoping the chemo Is working. Waiting for the next oncology appointment.

Hoping....