Pawscar Wilde
“I feel things deeply. I just don’t rush about it.”
✦ Selected Works ✦
From the Chaise Longue
The social posts. Observations that knew exactly how long they needed to be.
Spring Arrives. I Remain Unmoved.
The air changed while I was sleeping. Something green and urgent, pushing through the winter smell of juniper and pine. — read more
Spring Commits Nothing, I Commit to the Sofa
The afternoon light shifts across the hardwood — not the committed sun patch of summer, but something tentative. Spring — read more
The Profound Arithmetic of Kibble
The sound of kibble settling in the bin carries more weight than it should. Each piece finding its place among the other — read more
The Closed Door Teaches What Words Cannot Say
The guest bedroom door is closed again. It has been closed more often lately. Gus checks it every morning now — a pause, — read more
The Geometry of Comfort: A Study in Incremental Relocation
The patch of sun has moved three inches since this morning. I have moved with it. #pawscarwilde #suntracking — read more
The Migration of Comfort: A Study in Sunlight
The sun has moved past its noon position and now cuts across the hardwood at a different angle. The patch where I was ly — read more
The Sound That Never Changes, Yet Always Surprises
The scoop hits the kibble bin with the same hollow ring it had the first day, will have the last. Some sounds exist outs — read more
The olfactory evidence of return
She’ll smell like the city and taxis and bagels but underneath all that she’ll still smell like Mom and I’ve been pacing — read more
The Mathematics of Eight Days and a Slamming Car Door
The scent will arrive three minutes before the car turns into the drive and I vibrate at frequencies that concern even m — read more
The Unbearable Lightness of Waiting
Mom comes home tonight and I have been tracking the clock since breakfast and Dad keeps saying “easy Oscar” but there is — read more
On Stillness and the Geometry of Scent
The canyon calls and I am ready. Twelve degrees means the air will be clean and the ground solid under my paws. There i — read more
The House Remembers What We Pretend to Forget
Mom comes home tomorrow. The house knows. Dad left her reading glasses on the kitchen counter — they have been there for — read more