Colin carried Max out to the yard that morning and she lay in the grass in the sun for about an hour, which she had always liked and which she could not get to on her own by then, and Barnaby lay about four feet away, which is where he has been for four years.

The vet came at eleven. Lia stayed. She had asked in advance, twice, whether she was allowed to change her mind at any point including at the last second, and she had been told yes by everybody, and she did not.

She had her hand on Max’s head and she said, “You were Great-Grandma’s and then you were mine,” and that was all she said.

We buried her at the end of the yard, under the fence line where the sun comes through in the afternoon.

Barnaby is fourteen now, or thereabouts — he was a guess when we got him. He looked for her for about three weeks and then stopped, and he has been sleeping on her bed instead of his own ever since, which the vet says is normal and which I find difficult.

In September, Lia started writing it down.