I got through the day by strict compartmentalizing . . . please, do not talk to me today about my cat . . . and that allowed people to forget to feel sad for me and so move on constructively into their day. It allowed me not to be leaking tears all day, allowed me to laugh and tease as necessary, allowed me to stay out late at the conference dance party, allowed me to come back to my cabin sweaty and panting, allowed me to sleep for more than the two hours I'd snared the night before.

At some point next week I will write an obituary for my beloved king of Maine. He was a public character, and he deserves a public memorial.

Poor Tom is home alone in the bereft house. It is not so easy to cloak sorrow when one is in the place where the life was lived.

Thank you to all who sent me little notes.