Remembering George

Yesterday afternoon we finally scattered George's ashes in the raspberry patch. We had thought about waiting for the summer and a possible visit from Younger Son and family but that seems unlikely now so we went ahead with just the local family gathered.

Beforehand I asked Husband if we had any sparkling wine for the occasion. He said, yes, we had some of Uncle's. "Will that still be okay?" I asked. "It's been a few years since he died."

"Yes, it'll be fine," he said.

So we gathered around for the toast and the bottle was opened - not with a resounding pop but a deafening sigh. "Oh," said Husband.

"That wasn't much of a photo," I grumbled. So Elder Son and Husband did it again this time flicking the cork out dramatically.

So we toasted George's memory instead in fizzy orange in plastic cups. As ES said, "That shambles was quite appropriate really!"

Now George is where he loved to be: underneath the raspberry bushes. And we have our happy memories of the dopey gorgeous boy - whom I still greet when I come downstairs in the morning and expect to see him waiting at the bottom. I say waiting but that suggests he cared. It just happened to be the place that he tended to sleep at that time of day. George was very cat-like in that respect.

When we buried our cat the courgettes flourished. I hope George will have the same effect.