Went back and dug down a bit into Hector's grave, and placed a large butter-clam shell containing a slice each of butter and margarine into the little hole, then poured milk into it until it overflowed. Covered it back up, replaced the big square beach-tile back on top after scratching "Hector '92-'10" on the surface.
My brother's cat Holly died the same day. He and I had better have our ducks in a row when we go, or the Old Basement Cats will GET us. Purr with Bast, guys.
Dan and I keep looking at the sofa where Hector lay, to check if he's hungry, or comfortable, or needs washing. Exhausted, emotionally and physically. Now I have a bad case of the 'flu that is turning into bronchitis; will have to have some Skookum tobacco (age-controlled site) on the beach today and actually -- YUCK -- lung-suck it, to kill the germs and clean out the phlegm.