You was always an angel in our eyes. ~The tombstone of a young girl in a local cemetery.
A little more about the Kibs. Beezus was one year old, an insistent stray who kept darting in my kitchen door every time it opened. I have yet to assign the proper gender pronoun to him. I'm pretty sure he was a him. Beezus was sweet, never getting quite as much cuddling as he wanted. If I were his cat-wife, I would laud his skills as a provider. As a human, I can appreciate that the moles and squirrels left dead at my doorstep were touching, if bloody, reminders that he loved me. In a year that saw two of the most important people in my life come and go (and come and go), it was a blessing to know he saw my home as his home. As I had to remind myself on the day I stepped, barefooted, on a sharp and bloody beak. (No, not a dead bird. Just a dead beak.) Rachel so graciously did the honors of picking his body up off the street, whilst I dug the grave.
We planted him with the daffodils. He sleeps in the sunbeams of heaven and frolics with the cats of yore.
Listening to Kathleen Edwards, "Asking for Flowers."