You stayed under foot at the sewing machine.
If you weren’t under foot, you were on either your blanket by my side of the bed, or on your blanket by the toybox.
Your eyes were going, your stones were back, and still you persevered.
Tonight your heart gave out. From the looks of you when I found you, you were running to greet me after I got home from giving a lecture. You were in mid-run position.
I’ll miss you my little old man, my munchkin.
RIP in Cha-cha.