Slip sliding away

Vale Holiday Slamma. I saw him every day, in my imagination. I regret now not fighting for custody. It started back when his brother died. When Artboy and I came home and found him in the kitchen while the cat sat and stared at his small form. She wasn't supposed to sit on the kitchen bench but that's where she was, sitting and staring and twitching her tail. It wasn't sensible to name them so, the older one Celebrate, but they were mine and I loved them.

It wasn't sensible to sing their names as a daily chant while I walked the length of the kitchen fetching bowls and stirring porridge but they were mine and I loved them. We all know Artboy went mad and I was left on the floor with the cat. Artboy's mother offered to help care for Holiday, to take him into her house and make sure he had all the right things so I let him go. I helped her pack his small things into his Winnie The Pooh suitcase, it wasn't sensible of me to buy a tiny Winnie The Pooh suitcase to keep his things in but he was mine and I loved him so.

I never saw him again, missed the chance to say goodbye, didn't even know he was ill. I guess it was good of Artboy to sling me an email. RIP Holiday Slamma.