The other woman
He never comes home anymore.
No, that's not quite true.
He does come home, when I'm not around.
I can tell.
I still stock the kitchen full of his favourite snacks. I still leave dinner out for him, in case he gets hungry.
Once he came back when I was here. He went straight to the kitchen without even looking at me.
I suppose it must be unconditional love that I still wait for him. I wait for him to acknowledge my existence again.
I know he's seeing someone else.
Once when I was able to get close enough, I smelled the scent of another woman.
In the last few weeks when I did manage to catch a glimpse of him from afar, I noticed that he's lost weight.
I know who it is.
One evening after work, I finally took up the courage and knocked on her door.
Much to my surprise, she welcomed me inside.
He was nowhere to be found. But somehow I knew he's been there.
With a touch of guilt, she said, "Your cat has been sleeping here. I hope you don't mind."
27 June 2001