The Perfect Houseguest

He was the perfect houseguest.
He never said a word.
He ate whatever I fed him.
He let me choose the channels on the TV at night.
When I went outside to enjoy the sunshine he was happy to join me.
When I went back inside he was fine with that too.

He was the perfect houseguest.
He was always appreciative of my hospitality.
He made no demands of me even though he wasn’t the healthiest sort.
He was easy to entertain.
A walk around the block with him was enough to keep him happy.

He was the perfect houseguest.
He knew a good thing when he had it.
He was happy with my attention.
He didn’t mind my girls pushing him about, taking his stuff.
He liked to follow them around the house to see what they were up too.

He was the perfect houseguest.
He never intended to over-stay his welcome.
He never figured I’d fall in love with him so quickly.
He never realized that when he left I’d cry for days and feel so empty.
But I’m grateful that before he left he let me kiss him on the forehead,
hold him, and stroke his fur.

I’m not one to normally entertain a houseguest.
But how I wish he’d been able to stay longer.