I miss her. A lot. When I went down in the basement to do laundry today, there was the little nest she had in the blankets beside the washer. I kept expecting to see her. In the morning, I wait for her to come out mewing for her breakfast.
In a few days, I'll get another little earthenware pot with her ashes in it. I'm getting quite a collection of them. Mandy's is on a shelf in the kitchen and looks as if it might be sugar, or flour. Cholmondeley's is in my bedroom. I have to decide what to do with the ashes. My feeling is that Clio was probably more attached to the place than to me, and would probably like to be under a rose bush where it'll be sunny and safe. But I can't be sure. She liked being near me. The best time was before my mum died, and I used to work in the room that is now my bedroom. She was able to jump up to a shelf over my desk, and used to love lying there while I worked. She would be all relaxed, pretending to sleep, but always with one eye a little bit open so that she knew where I was and what I was doing. I wish that she and Robinson had gotten along better. Sometimes, she'd come out when he was there and rub her head under his chin and he would lick her face and everyone would be happy, but I don't think they could ever really be good friends.
And I'm not really sure about Robinson, either. Sometimes he seems happy, and at other times he seems to want to be anywhere but near me. I think of Cholmondeley, who could never bear to be more than about 5 feet from me. I would feel his eyes on me where ever I was. I think sometimes that Robinson would be perfectly happy alone on a hillside, the wind blowing through his fur, gazing off into the distance. He doesn't really want to be a house dog, I think. Yet I think he'd like me to be around somewhere, just not too close.
But then. He's just come into the study and settled down at my feet.