210526 His Spirit Is Called Home

May 26

Sometime in the night Fig called to me and I gathered him up and took him to bed with me. He died while I slept with him cuddled against my chest. 

We spent yesterday sitting on the porch watching the clouds and the birds. It was a good day. Fig lay on the grass or sat in my lap, or dozed on a blanket by my chair. From time to time he drank from his water dish that I put by him. I asked the witches to call his spirit home. 

I carried him to the stream in the afternoon and he had a last drink of the mountain water. He was as small and frail as a newborn lamb in my arms.

My thoughts today will be with Rain who was always Fig's favorite. She came to sit with us in the afternoon. She was glad that we weren't far away in Toronto. 

Today will be another day of not knowing. Not knowing what to do, not knowing what I will think and feel. 

Mumma Yaga