Perhaps Lily has met Summer, a small kitten (no more than 4 or 5 months old) whom I found in front of my rural property when I returned from a visit to the mountains last summer. I wrapped her small body in a towel; I couldn't bury her, as the ground in August was very hard, and I'm not so good at digging anyway. I took her to the back of the property, where the vegetation is thick, and laid her body in a soft spot, and then, knowing there was a hurricane coming, put the top of a plastic dog house over her. I just couldn't bear the thought of her body lying out in a storm.

Lily and Summer are happy now, and our tears are for ourselves, because *we* are sad. They are not! Lily will meet you at the Bridge, as Summer will meet me. The only consolation I can find in either of those transitions is that they were quick.

May Lily's Creator bless you mightily for your compassion and love.