Day after day, the same ritual. Warm compress. Gentle wipe. A single, perfect tear reappearing by noon.

The vet called it epiphora . Too fancy. Miso just looked perpetually moved, as if she’d finished a sad book hours ago and couldn’t quite shake the final page. A brownish trickle stained her white bib fur, then dried into a little comma under her eye.

Here’s a short piece based on the phrase “cat clogged tear duct”:

I dabbed it with a warm, soft cloth each morning. She leaned into the pressure—just for a second—then flicked her tail and walked away, offended by my concern.