Granny gave Ruby her Tigey for her first Christmas. For many years Tigey went everywhere with Ruby but in more recent times, he's stayed closer to home. He's been loved so much the fur has worn right off his tummy. He has a belly button. He sleeps round her neck. She says that because he's so worn, he gets cold quickly. That's a good thing. He ends up deposited all over the house and we often have a hunt at bedtime, trying to remember where he was last seen - on the side of the bath, at the foot of our bed, under the bench.
When she opened her backpack and realised he was not in it, there was a howl like I've not heard before. She keeps reliving the panic she felt when she knew she'd left him on the plane. She says it's the worst thing that has ever happened to her. It's her first experience of grief.
Endless phone calls to airports all over the country have not met with success. Each morning she has to remember, again, that he is gone.
Like many things that are silent, he seemed to have a sort of wisdom. I miss him too, I miss seeing him there, with her, always.