Kids these days ...

So, as I had broken down, being sad again about Gingi, I told Michael, "She didn't even smell like herself. She smelled like the soap from her bath. *sniff* I don't have anything that smells like her! *sniff*"

Bucket came over to me and helpfully suggested, "You could smell her bones."

I couldn't help myself. I laughed.

And Bruise ran to me to declare "Box of bones!" and started laughing.

Yes, my kids know that Gingi-cat's body is buried in the yard. And that SHE'S not there ... her body is. And bodies decompose until they're bones.

Geez, their poor teachers ... I might have the strangest, most morbid children in their class ever.

Yeah, I don't think that Gingi's bones are going to have the scent that her fur or her breath did.
(I miss her cat breath with the hint of chlorine from drinking water from the tap or toilet <-- Hey, it was flushed! It's not like I was french-kissing her or anything! ... And I miss the scent of her fur, once the soap from her last bath scent wore off and she smelled only of herself. I miss burying my nose in her fur. ... But not enough to dig up her little, emanciated body. It just wouldn't be the same. Or very respectful, for that matter.)

Yeah, this wasn't the happy-happy post that I promised. But I'll work on getting some not-about-me-dealing posts. Probably as soon as I've come more to terms ... I hope that it's soon. I don't want to be a bother to anyone. ... ...