Tact

"Your cat is dead, Debra. Molly died. That old man, our neighbor, said so."
The tact of little brothers. That is not the way I'd hoped to break the news to our daughter, and I hadn't even realized that wise little Benjamin had picked up on my conversation with the neighbor the day before. Did I know anyone with a little black and white kitty with a collar. She had been accidentally backed over by our neighbors the day before. It sounded too much like our Molly, but I was still hoping it wasn't and I was certainly not ready to tell the kids about it.
I guess 4 yo Ben thought the walk to the school bus was as good a time as any. He looked puzzled when he saw me standing there holding her while she was crying, so he decided to repeat the news flash. I interrupted him, "let's not talk about that anymore Benjamin, it's hurting her feelings." His brow furrowed over her distress, as if seeing the gravity of the situation for the first time. He stooped down and picked up two pine needles and held them in front of our faces. "This is you, Debbuh, and this one is mommy." Then he crossed them over eachother. "And you are hugging." For some reason, we got tickled over that, and giggles covered over wailing. We spent the rest of the wait for the bus musing about kitties in heaven. Not sure that they will be there, but I don't think God is going to take issue with this point of theology when it consoles the pain of his precious ones.