Damn, I miss my Punkindog. It just ain't the same coming home to a house with 2 Evil Cats ready to attack. No Punkin to scratch when I reach down, no reason to get up in the middle of the night if I think I hear a whine, nothing to warn me about when the Mormons come, no reason to put my glasses up at night, nothing to trip over. And a package of processed cheese food lasts me forever.
But I still can't bear to put his food dish away.