My hands are shaking as I write this. I just can’t believe it. I’ll be the first to admit that when I got home last Thursday, I realized that he was just not the same. Philip said he lost all his zest for life since Toby had gone. How could he forget his forever companion?
Despite all of this, the events of this evening still surprised me. I worked a little late and hadn’t had a chance to walk at all today. I thought I would catch up and do it all at once while Philip was out shopping. I never felt unsafe being alone in the house with Gunk, but something was different tonight.
He was listing to the side, but as I mentioned, he just hasn’t been right since Toby left. I paid it no mind, but as I stepped up onto the treadmill, I swear, he deliberately tripped me. My water bottle flew, rolling down the treadmill, spewing it’s lemony goodness along the way.
“You’re imagining things” I said to myself. I cradled Gunk in my arms and carried him to the kitchen so that I could replenish his air and water. I know it’s not much, but a small comfort to someone who’s lost his best friend.
As we passed the dishwasher, he reached out and flung another water bottle onto the floor.As this one had no contents, it shattered into a million pieces.
I left Gunk for just a second and stepped into the laundry room to get the dustpan and broom. When I returned, I realized with great dismay that Gunk had impaled himself on a kitchen knife and was letting out his last gasp of air.
Now, I know that the conspiracy theorists will be coming out of the woodwork, disbelieving that he could’ve committed this heinous act. How could he have knifed himself in the back? And he seemed so happy. But I have my proof in the note he left that says “punched continually in the face by a three-year-old… NOT GOOD!”