Death
Our family cat, Boris, who was 16 and lived with my mother died yesterday. He’d been in fine fettle the day before, his usual caterwauling, tray clanging, cupboard banging self. Being clever he’d learned to bang the cupboard for biscuits and the trays by the fridge for meat, if only someone had made him a Stephen Hawking style speech synthesiser, I think he would have had a lot to say…
I’ve not told Sprog yet, he had a busy day today at school, then seeing his good friend at soft play and then the school disco, so I didn’t want to ruin that. He seemed too tired this evening so I suppose it will have to be tomorrow. He coped with my mothers dog dying quite well but he considered Boris to be his brother and enjoyed looking after him when we visited. I got Boris when I was a teenager… so in Sprogs eyes Boris came first, then Sprog, we are all a big family. I think this is going to be a difficult conversation…
