He currently marks the time elapsed from Easter evening, when we gave Midnight her release from suffering, by the hours and days. Last night this time she was still alive; last week this time she raised her head and mewed when we visited, ten days ago she was home and she went for her last walk outside on a leash; two weeks ago she still ate a little on her own. If the heart were an egg, mine would be a whipped omelette by now, watching him go through this and re-experiencing it all again through him.

He's been going through a decade's worth of jpeg's, pictures taken since the first hour Midnight came home to us through last month. I tend to take too many pictures of the cats, so reviewing them all is a huge undertaking. I think it's helped some, since each picture is a reminder of how well she lived her life.

As for me, I've been listening to the CD "A Cat Shaped Hole In My Heart", a collection I purchased many years ago when I lost George of the Jungle. It helps a little.