Guest column: Where grief arrives

I awoke sad, depressed, slow. We’ve had a death in the family. The one who passed on was friendly, patient, good-looking and well behaved. He didn’t take a seat on the sofa unless invited. His feet were clean and never soiled the carpet. He had a long life for his species, almost 19 years. He was our cat.

In all those years, Squeek (as we called him) only jumped on a kitchen counter once and, because we shouted “no” in unison, leapt down and never did it again — perhaps because there were always laps to use instead.

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