{{{askye}}} It sounds like you gave her a comforting and easeful passing with her loving human close by; it's awful, that the last good gift you can give your pets is the hardest on you.
Ugh. Off to pick up Matilda now, and then I don't even know what. We got a call earlier that the father of one of Emmett's teammates, a robust and glowing and radiantly happy man, died suddenly last night of a massive heart attack. He was the kind of team dad that all the kids on his son's team and on all the teams his team played, and any older or younger siblings of any of these, all knew and loved him; everyone at Emmett's middle school is in shock, and Hec is on his way over now to check in with Emmett, see how he's handling it all, and see if there's anything to be done for the family.
Which means Matilda and I are futless until probably her bedtime, and it's too wet out to go do much of anything, and if I let myself get sad she'll be sad too, and worried, and keep patting me and saying, "Don't be sad, Mommy." Which is exactly the kind of tender toddler thing that just makes you ten times sadder.
I think I'll either take Matilda out for a noodle dinner or call megan and foist ourselves on her for the evening, or possibly both.