It’s been almost a week since she died and the sound of her claws clicking across the floor still hasn’t left us. I still half imagine she is dozing in another room, expecting her to reappear at my heel, catch a glimpse of her through a crack in the door or find her watching from…
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Two Roads Diverged
Django is lying at my feet. Outside, for the first time in weeks, it has begun to rain. Softly this time. Four years ago today, as I dug a grave for Flash and set her, wrapped in her blanket, in the ground, the weather changed. As the midday Angelus Bells rang out in the heavy…