Lunch time. Today represents the first day I've had tuna since Max died. The old bachelor cupboard's pretty bare at the moment so if I weren't going to actually buy lunch today, it pretty much required the opening of a can of tuna, something I've been avoiding.
There were six cans in the cupboard, the remnants of the ten I bought Tuesday three weeks ago, after Max was given the appetite stimulant the night before and ate most of the two cans of tuna I had left, all in one evening. He and the other cats, mostly him, managed another four of the ten new cans in the handful of days he actually turned out to have left to him. The other six have just sat since them.
Till this morning.
It was a sad thing, for the first time in pretty much ten years, to open a can of tuna and not have the sound of it, the alluring waft of it, result in the appearance of Max at my feet, with his plaintiff, beseeching "oww... oww... ow..." Being bothered by Max was one of the secret joys of opening a can of tuna. As it turned out, this time Ally showed up, perched on the counter behind me, doing pretty much the same thing. In a way, it was nice consolation; in another way, it made me even sadder. Life goes on. Feels like, somehow, it shouldn't. But it does.