Tooth extraction at the veterinary clinic.

They cradle me like a fragile idol, whispering assurances I do not believe.

A bright, sterile light crowns my head, and unfamiliar hands pry open the temple of my mouth.

The ache has lived in me so long that I almost fear its absence, a ghost departing before I have learned its name.

Then, a sudden pull—a release—like a piece of my history torn free, held aloft in reverence.

They murmur over it, this small, ruined thing, as if it were something sacred.

I taste the sharp echo of loss, the hollow where pain once sat, now an empty throne.

Somewhere beyond this moment, I will eat, I will purr, I will forget, but for now, I am nothing but absence wrapped in fur.