Google, ‘Should I tell the children the cat died?’ In the absence of recieved wisdom on well, everything agricultural, I resort as always to my virtual friend, google. The cat has died. What do I do?

Finn was found as a kitten in June in a hedgerow on a sunny afternoon. She was a welcome distraction for the children who were a little bit perplexed at the arrival of their new sibling and their newer, wonky, weepy version of mommy.

From early on, Finn appeared to be a cat on a kamikaze mission having lost eight of nine lives. One in the parlour under the cows during milking, one hanging from the calf house rafters and so on. To me she was ‘That Cat’ as in ‘put out that cat’ ‘drop that cat’ ‘stop eating that cat.’ You have to be a tough cat to survive the gauntlet that is Hearthill.

I thought That Cat had it in her. She might have eventually become Finn to me. And now I have to tell children about the death of That Cat. To that end, the farmer and I discuss who will do the telling. Terms like ‘ah he’s a bit sensitive’ and ‘he’ll take it badly’ are bandied around. As it turns out, these country children of ours are not that sensitive afterall. After just a moment of introspection, our eldest asks if ‘he can get another one’ followed swiftly by ‘Can I do the shovelling?’ What does a feline have to do around here?

And so, in order to appease their softie, townie mommy, there’s a couple of country children saying a Glory Be over our dead cat as he is lowered down into a hole in the haggard in a biscuit tin.