The sale is imminent, and Herself is glad for Cherished Friend, knowing that he will have tidied up this particular loose end from his time here in this desert land. Nevertheless, she still feels a bit wistful.
She checked the mail one last time to verify that the US Postal Service had processed the 'change address' form successfully. (It had; the only mail was the generic midweek fliers and a misdirected magazine.) Then she affixed the key to a small file card on which she'd written which mailbox is the correct one, and went into the house to put the key on the counter for the new owners.
In the silence, Herself could recall perfectly the sound from the filter on the fish tank that Cherished Friend once had. Herself would feed the fish on occasion when he was away, and it was very soothing to watch the wee fishes flit to and fro while the filter bubbled soothingly in the dark quiet house.
She walked softly through the empty house, according it the respect it deserved for being Cherished Friend's home for so long. She only peeked into the rooms that had been his private domains -- his office and his bedroom -- for it seemed as though it would be an invasion of his privacy to set foot therein, even now. She paused for a bit in the kitchen, remembering the rich color of the wood of the bar and the table and chairs, and the conversations she and Cherished Friend had had standing there. Finally, she laid a hand on the walls of the entryway for a moment; and then exited, carefully locked the door behind her.
Thank you, house, for being our Cherished Friend's personal sanctuary. We are grateful.
*
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