the floorboards the moment I walked into any room.
I was refilling his water bowl when my four‑year‑old daughter Jillian padded in in her socks.
“Mama, can Frankie sleep in my bed tonight?”
“Sweetheart, his old knees can’t climb up there anymore,” I said, kneeling to scratch behind his ears. “But he’ll be right on his rug beside you — same as always.”