evening clouds tinged gold by the setting sun

Bumping along the bottom.
Mrs W gone. Quinner gone.
Hark I hear Cilla Black singing again in her inimitably sweet sad soft tones...
"What's it all about Heelers?"
For once I don't know what to tell her.
Now this.
Aunty Mary dropped in for a visit today.
"My cat left a dead robin on the window sill on Wednesday," she told me conversationally.
So robin gone too.
About as gone as a robin can be.
He'd been coming all summer. I regarded him as a consolation from the creator of the universe. If I went into the garden and called "Robin," he would alight on the grass. If I opened the kitchen window and called for him, he would arrive on the window sill in a ball of furiously beating wings. Not half as graceful a flyer as the swallows. But all robin. He had even started to come into the house. The family were getting used to finding him in the oddest places. "Your robin got in again," the Dad would say bemusedly.
But no more.
We hadn't seen him for a few days.
Since Wednesday.
Sometimes the consolations are only for a little while.
Memo to all Heelers acquaintances, loved ones, lovers, pets, friends, enemies, pen pals, internet contacts, admirers, detractors, stalkers, corrupt cops, election stealing politicos, UN spooks, extra terrestrials, etc etc.
None of you are to die for the next six months.
I really can't take any more at the moment.