The Morose Blog of Untimely Death

Yesterday Peachy caught a baby squirrel in the front yard. I rescued it from her, poor sad tiny thing, lying on the grass, panting and squeaking in terror. There wasn't any blood, or any visible injury. Eric and I put it in a shoebox padded with a hand towel and kept it in his room with the door shut, hoping it was just in shock and would recover; it fell asleep, but after four or five hours it died quietly. So I guess we'll bury it in the backyard, poor little thing. I was really hoping it would be okay.

Anna asked if we could keep it. So I had to explain to her that dead bodies decompose, which means that they rot, like - I had to pause for an analogy.

"Like the leftovers in the fridge?" she suggested.

Ouch.

I just wish things like this would not happen. I've been so sad lately, partly from losing poor old Moe, but some of it for no good reason - just a reaction to change, and loss of the familiar, I guess. The new job is going well, though.

It would have been better - for us, at least - if Romeo was going to die, for him to have done it at home. It would have been comforting to do what we'll do with the baby squirrel, and have a little ritual; it would have been nice to be able to bury him in the back yard, wrapped in a pillowcase, with a few toys and a can of his favorite smelly food. Sweet old kitty. I wonder if the others miss him? Bingo, especially (Romeo's the one on the right):

Apologies to what readers I have for subjecting you to all this. I'll try to cheer up. I'm going to Georgetown to see Robbie today. He has a very ridiculous new puppy.