Our beloved cat Tasha died yesterday. She was older, and had a lot of health problems that were getting worse, and she was losing weight rapidly. Then, she started sneezing blood, and the vet and I decided it was time.

Tasha was a great pet, though not overly affectionate. Love had to be on her terms, which sounds very feline, I suppose. When she was younger, she used to climb up on the fence rail and howl. The neighbors called her “the Foreigner,” as she seemed to be keening for the old country. But as she grew older, she spent less and less time outdoors, preferring to snore away the day on our bed. Every so often, she’d make her way out to the fountain and lick the water from its sides, along with the birds and the honeybees.

She had a good, long life. We are very glad she was a part of ours for a while.

I use the garden as my sounding board, it seems, whether I’m sad or happy, so here’s some pictures I took this morning. We’re enjoying the last of the summer produce; soon it will be time to transfer over to the winter garden.