The night Momo died, Josh composed a haiku: Death is hard for kids. Hard for adults sometimes, too. We'll miss you Momo. In a way, I think it was a blessing that Momo died when he did, if he had to die. We left on a trip the very next morning, which gave us other things to think about, other things to do. It gave us time to adjust to the idea that Momo wouldn't be around anymore before we had to live normal life without him. Since we've come home, I haven't heard the kids mention him. I miss him at night when there's no one to chase marbles. The other cats aren't particularly interested; they have other toys they prefer. I don't know if the other cats miss Momo or even realize he's gone. They do, however, seem more clingy since our return. I imagine it's because we were gone for six days that they follow me around meowing, climbing on my lap, Ishmael begging to let me bury his face in my hair. Yesterday each of the three cats took a turn...
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