Thinking of you today, Fluffy my love.
Like you loving Bertie, I still love Mr C like mad even tho he's dead and we're together in that, aren't we. I still miss the furry bugger, and frankly blame him. His ashes are interred in this warm building, cos I couldn't face putting him outside.
What lasts of us is love, and I think one day you'll feel that without missing him.
On a less poetic note, my neighbour screamed 'time to let go' when I was dithering about the ashes. She was right. I mean, I was livid, but she's buried humans and knows what she's talking about. After a rather frosty coffee, I grudgingly accepted that a fresh, sunny outlook is no mean gift to ourselves.