Heartbroken

Last night, Little watched Bones, The Truth in the Myth.

She's never had much time for TV: occasional clips of birdsong have had her briefly--lip-lickingly--hopeful; big cats' roars have made her uneasy. Mainly, since the demise of One Man and his Dog, she's ignored the set, or has included it, along with books, laptops, knitting... stuff, in the ctegory of things that get in the way of her humans spending sufficient time adoring her.

But last night, Little watched Bones.

Purely by chance, she was sitting near the set, when Bones and Brennan visited the pet psychic. At the beginning of the scene, Little's ears pricked up, homed in on the TV. The moment the white cat appeared, lounging on the arm of a sofa, she was transfixed. She stared at the lower right-hand part of the screen, barely glancing at the little lap dog in the centre, ignoring entirely the large green parrot, taking in the sight of other white cat.

She moved forward, patted the screen, resumed her vigil. (I've not seen screen-tapping since she played her own game of spot the sheep dog.) When the scene ended, she went back to the screen and tapped the same, now cat-free, space.

Then she went to the patch of carpet under the piano where Big spent his last days.

She cried out.

It couldn't have been much clearer: she thought she'd seen Big. She still misses Big. Misses him so she's little by little starving herself away.

She spent the evening periodically checking the screen for her brother. She'd fallen asleep by the time I caught the same scene on Living+1 and hence missed that opportunity. Today she's even checked the F1 qualifying laps for him.

It's heartbreaking watching her grieve.