Two years ago, June 26th, last photo of the elder of RouXy’s Masters. In the sunshine, in front of their door, with the gentle red cat under the armchair. It was on a Sunday morning. He will die on the following Sunday. Having patted the fur of his kitten for a last time, since I had put RouXy one moment on him in his bed. RouXy will leave us seven months later and Frimousse two months later.
We are going to live our second summer without them. Frimousse’s lime tree has some branches and a little foliage again. He could hide in it if he were here. Of course the “little” fir tree near the mailbox will not be there again. In the half-barrel sunflowers grow – “our” birds have sown them for us. Still plenty of tits and sparrows. But curiously no cats. Well… not exactly because a few days ago a cream-coloured kitten came past. He was after the birds. But he hasn’t come again. There were too many. The choice, thus the hunting, was too difficult.
Frimousse’s Mistress will say I keep writing about the past. But those in charge make us such a dark future… Poor children.