Remembering Thumbkin

Just talking about death with your kids is a hard enough subject, but when it greets you at your front doorstep, all that talk is shoved aside, and you’re simply forced to deal with pure emotion.

That was what we faced, last Friday evening, when Corb and I returned home to the apartment, after a terrific evening at Scary Acres, the haunted farmhouse where Annie works. Annie earns her pay in the corn maze, playing a girl with a severed hand. The maze and the hayride had their scares, but they were innocent and funny, nothing compared to what greeted us when we unlocked the apartment door.

From the minute we entered, we knew that something was up. Thumbkin wasn't there to greet us, the way he usually was. The placed just seemed unnaturally quiet.

"Something's wrong," Corb said, looking around. "Where's Thumbkin?"

I checked the kitchen; Corb checked the little bedroom. Ashes was the one to check the living room.

"Daddy," she said, standing by the armchair.

I moved over. There he was, lying in an unnatural position, right in front of the armchair, his front legs stretched out, as though he had been trying to crawl underneath.

"Oh no," said Corb, and all hell started to break loose. Corb just kept saying "nononono" and started sobbing. Tiger ran into the bathroom to throw up. Ashes started to cry and started insisting that we needed to leave the place, right away.
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