Hearth & Horn

Death is so strange. You get a finite amount of time with people; and it has to be sequential, you can't ration it out across a lifetime like saving the rest of a really good wine. I keep wondering if she misses me; you know, the sense of of "she is in another place and cannot be in this place, but she must still exist in the other place that she is" - like when Rosencrantz says "I wonder what it would be like to be dead in a box with a lid on it. One always imagines it would be like being alive in a box - but it wouldn't because you'd be dead". Every now and then I'll say - oh wow, she would love this! And my partner has taken to firmly saying "...she's in the garden" as if she really *were* in the garden scampering about, instead of being in a hole; and as if the hole was really a sort of cosy warren, instead of a grave.

Anyway, my ferret is still a dead ferret and it's the worst.