Well, Sally, our 10 year old cat, suddenly became sick. The Husband took her to the vet last night and said it was cancer or something autoimmune. She was going very fast, and the vet recommended euthanasia to stop her suffering. After a couple of phone calls back and forth, we agreed.
Very sad and I've been weepy since last night. How little critters can get into our hearts!
I let the kids sleep, of course. This morning, the 5 y.o. was awake, so I explained to her what had happened. She considered Sally to be "her" cat, so this was hard. I told her that Daddy was going to bring Sally home so we could have a funeral, and that's what you do when someone dies. (Sally is actually in our freezer awaiting interment, but I was not going to explain THAT part.)
She didn't seem to really grasp the concept of death, so I tried to explain that Sally's soul -- the part that made her walk, and meow, and be alive -- was gone, and that Daddy was just bringing her body home.
So sorrowfully, she asked, "But not her head?"
You know, sometimes, in the very middle of a sadness, humor presents itself. Had to actually look away to regain my composure before telling her that Sally's head would still be there, and attached.
So, tonight, the ministerial aspirant leads her first "funeral."