**Field Notes: Coal’s Log, Entry 004**

You’re gone again.

And this spare? Not the one with those bomb treats.

Doesn’t smell right.

Zero liver, in fact.

What kind of establishment is this?

First flight was a fake-out.

You came home,
    I knew better—

    but I fell for it anyway.

Took the cuddles, pretended not to care.  (I cared)

Now you’re in STL,
    doing whatever STL is.

And that _other_ Spare?

Back in Texas,
     sending text howls
     I can almost taste.

*(Yeah, dude— I’m thinking about your treats, too)*

My blanket? Unacceptable.

The hallway? Empty.

My patience? Thin.

But I’ll be here—
    sighing dramatically,
    collecting back scritches
    from anyone brave enough to try,
    keeping the good spots warm
    and your seat free.

But maybe hurry up
    with all that sentimental stuff you’re doing
    and just…
             get the barking freck back already?

*(Extra liver, plz, if you talk to the Spare)*