Martha walking, Martha resting.

Outside the morning light is astonishing, bright. 

This morning I was greeted by a shimmering pool of ginger twisting-turning-hungry-cats as I opened the bedroom door. Four cats. 

Some of the books I have written and illustrated masquerade in the world as children's books, because they have pictures in, because the language is simple, because there are not many words. The Seal Children is a book about separartion. About loss. It has space within the story so that if the reader and the child want to they can find a safe place to talk about things that trouble them. The Snow Leopard also, although I suppose that is more about death, but then death is a separation also. And The Ice Bear has loss, has decisions. Maybe this is not the best way to try and sell a book, but whilst they deal on a level with important issues I hope none of them do it in a maudlin way, preaching but rather give space to find your own understanding.

So yesterday was a day of learning my own lessons. 15 years of sharing days with Martha, from kitten play to walking the wilds and then old lap cat purring by the fire. I dreaded the moment of calling in Kath, but I can only say that I think Kath is the most amazing person, so kind, so gentle and I am so lucky to have her as a friend. She helped to make Martha's passing a beautiful thing, reinforced my decision that it was time to let her go, even offered to help me dig her grave but then gave me space to grieve. She is such a gift of a woman.

Last night I was draped in cats, cuddled by Maurice and Pixie. Elmo was out and about being Elmo, Max sat vigil over Martha. He is now the oldest cat.

Today I have work to do and I am astonished by the beauty that I found yesterday in such a difficult day.