Biscuit

Biscuit weighed four pounds soaking wet and acted like he weighed four hundred. He spent twenty years terrorizing the mail carrier, hogging exactly two-thirds of the bed, and staring at me while I ate like a tiny furious judge. He had one tooth left by year sixteen and used it to great effect on a vet tech who got too confident. I used to joke that he'd outlive us all, and honestly he almost did. He stopped walking stairs around eighteen so I carried him up every night, which he accepted without gratitude, because that was Biscuit. Four pounds of pure attitude and zero apologies. The house is stupidly quiet without him barking at absolutely nothing at 2am. I didn't know silence could feel that heavy.