Aren't we glad, Pea?

They tell me that they're finished with your body. They tell me what we already knew, that you didn't have any diseases, and that the man that you had bitten will be just fine.

Aren't we relieved?

The thought that you had to undergo this indignity makes me ill and numb. The thought that that part of you which I showed so muh affection to found itself on cold steel and subjected to instruments makes me angry. That, when I'm summoned to collect what will remain of you, the brittle-white bones crushed to powder, that part of your presence will be absent has me numb. I can only hope that when they were finished, you were shown some respect.

I was thinking about the spot near the makeshift inukshuk that Cai made, where you often lay down to rest, or at the base of the evergreen that still bears ribbons from past equinoxes. But I won't be in this place forever, and when it gets demolished, I wouldn't want you disturbed like the squirrel next door was.

So I'm thinking about a sapling near the other memorials in the park. But I'll keep you home for a time, beside where Beltane waits. I miss you.