Copyright C E Ayr
The chair is mine now.
For thirty years it was his chair, moulded by time to his generous proportions, the arms polished by perpetually drumming fingers, the head-rest darkened with grease.
For twelve months now it’s been our chair, my body sinking into hollows created by his, my fingers exploring places restlessly worn threadbare.
It’s cocooned, cosseted and comforted me in the aftermath.
In recent weeks I’ve added crisp linen covers, and the re-upholstered framework now yields gratefully to my frailer physique.
So now, like the journey, the chair is mine alone.
And now is the time to move on.
You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!
This was going to be a tale about a cat missing its owner, but the muse wouldn’t have it. ‘Your anthropomorphic phase is behind you,’ it said. This is the last photograph I would have expected from Friday Fictioneer C E Ayr – I had him down for a dog man. Thank you once again to Rochelle, for her leadership of our happy band.
castelsarrasin 
Dear Sandra,
This shows how observant I am. I didn’t notice the cat. Love the voice in this and the purrrfect story.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Didn’t notice the cat? I almost didn’t notice the scooter. 🙂 Thanks for reading. Rochelle.
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A lovely sketch of the grieving process told through a chair. Nicely done. Amazing how most people in their homes stake out ‘their’ particular spot – I know I have mine! 🙂
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Yes, we have our allocated chairs. Never a word spoken about it, it just happens. Thanks for reading, Iain.
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Still together, in spirit anyway. Delightful Sandra.
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Thanks for reading, Keith.
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Lovely story, and in actuality the first line is definitely something a cat would say!
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What a subtle story! You describe the process of grieving and moving on in such a way that we realise it wasn’t necessarily the happiest of marriages – the perpetually drumming fingers being one clue, and the way the widow has appropriated her deceased husband’s former chair, changing it to suit her wishes – I bet she’s changed many other things too. You are such a clever writer, Sandra!
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There’s always some minor irritation, even in the best of relationships, I think. My husband is what I call a ‘foot-fidgetter’. Constantly shuffling his feet against the carpet. Thanks for reading, Penny and for your lovely comment.
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Wonderful description of characters and physique. Somehow I see a throne with king and successor in your story.
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That’s an interesting perception, I like that.
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I’m at the stage of life in which I am keenly aware of how short my days with Terry could be. Your story really spoke to me.
And I didn’t notice the cat until I’d read a couple of stories 🙂
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Yes, it’s something yu try not to dwell on as the years pass. You must have wondered why everyone was writing about cats. 🙂
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I finally saw it after I read the second cat story. It is, after all, not what you look at 🙂
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Ouaf, ouaf!
You got that right, I have a severe allergy to cats.
But it was a cool photo op, I thought.
Great story, subtle as ever, not sure she is grieving too much, just starting to realise she is better off without him, maybe.
Well, that’s my take, helped by your title.
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It can be taken either way. In my mind she’s been grieving but is now able to look back on those minor irritations with detachment, as she moves on. Somehow I knew cats wouldn’t be your thing. 🙂
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Nice one, Sandra 🙂
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Thank you!
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Precious memories will stay with us forever.
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Thanks for reading
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Letting go is never easy, maybe it’s time for a brand new chair now.
Nice story!
-Rachel
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Thank you, Rachel. Glad you liked it.
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Sandra, this is one of my favorites of yours (and I’ve loved quite a few). This is incredibly astute in noting grief and loss. The simplicity of the descriptions, the alliteration in the 4th paragraph, and the use of words like “aftermath” and “like the journey” that leave the reader wondering about the story beyond these 100 words. I so love your writing, Sandra; write a novel!
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Nah! Not enough years left for that, and not enough commitment to promoting it. But thank you for your lovely comment, Dawn. It’s good that you’re back.
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Ahh, but how I’d love to read it! 😉
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Here’s to letting go and moving on, which does not need to mean forgetting ….
🙂
Na’ama
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Indeed. Thanks for reading.
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Brilliantly done.
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Thank you! 🙂
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Loved the story, so full of emotion
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Thank you, Michael.
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I love everything about this… And weirdly, could apply to my bed…His side, that is.
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Aw thank you Dale. Yes, there are reminders everywhere, I guess. I thought of you when I wrote this.
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Aww, did you really? How sweet are you?
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i guess when sitting on the chair becomes uneasy, it’s time to stand up and walk outside and enjoy the view.
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You’re so right. 🙂
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Nice, life and loss told through the chair. Like Rochelle, I didn’t see the cat either!
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I’m amazed how many didn’t see it. Thanks for reading.
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You not only took possession, you changed it too beyond recognition. Safely, it is yours now. Nice story.
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Many thanks. 🙂
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What a lovely tribute to a lost love.
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Thanks, Liz.
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Ditto above.
And it’s right not to write about a lost owner.
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Thanks Patrick 🙂
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Sandra, I guess it’s all about perception. When I read your story I got the impression the owner of the cat had reclaimed the chair after the cat’s demise. I had a couch that had been thoroughly claimed by a now deceased cat. It looked much the way you describe the chair. I would have liked to have had it reupholstered. FWIW: I saw the cat in the prompt instantly. Could it be that I was prejudiced to see your work in this light because of it?
Always an enjoyable read!
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I just went back to read it from that POV. And you’re right, if I’d substituted plucking claws for drumming fingers it would have fit that scenario beautifully. In fact, I rather like the story from that point of view. Thank you! 🙂
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I really liked this concrete (asin, not abstract or cerebral) journey through grief and back to life again. I enjoyed the comments too, especially pointing out that cats can be as hard on furniture as this lost husband was.
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Yes, that was an unexpected but interesting take. Thanks for reading.
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Aww…the gradual build and release of the grief is conveyed so well to the reader, it really touches the heart! Amazing writing, Sandra.
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Thanks, Jade. 🙂
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Very touching and moving tale. I went down the anthropomorphic route 😉
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Someone has to. 😉
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🙂
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This is a powerful story, Sandra. It made me think something I’ve thought before – that death is such a mystery. We’re here sitting in chairs and wearing clothes and driving cars (or scooters) one minute, and the next we’re – what? And for those left behind there is such a strong imprint of our presence in those things that were part of our existence. Well told. Again.
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A mystery indeed. The plot will be revealed to every one of us.
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Yes it will.
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Very well told. Something we must all make peace with, as it sounds like your protag has..
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Thanks for reading, Violet.
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This is so well told, the comfort of sitting there and how time moves on… the gentleness of acceptance in claiming the chair as her own is perfect.
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Thanks for reading, Bjorn.
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Beautiful. Graceful and subtle writing.
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Thanks, Sascha. 🙂
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Grief changes us but then in the end we eventually move on, as we must. Beautifully written as always Sandra.
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This story is so wonderfully detailed – that worn and greasy chair, that finger drumming, the fact she’s had it re-covered to suit her needs. Just beautifully done, a fantastic way to represent a relationship Sandra
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I like how you captured her grief in her attachment to an inanimate object. And yes, it is time to move on.
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I love this perspective!
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