It's Nuffin without Puffin

I answered a call from The Gen. on Monday evening. ‘Darling I have some terribly sad news, Professor Puffin was killed today. I'm so sorry’ he told me. I dissolved into tears.

I woke on Tuesday with a heavy heart, knowing it was not going to be an easy day. I sat blubbing on the train to Victoria. As we pulled into the station the elderly gentleman opposite me smiled kindly and said, ‘don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll get better.’ My blubbing turned to wails, ‘I loved him and he’s gone. My cat died’. The gentleman looked rather shocked and moved quickly towards the door. One thing is for certain - that’ll be the last time he ever tries to offer a crumb of comfort to a weeping 20-something.

I was the first in the office and as the boys came in one by one, they took one look at me & decided it was probably best not to ask. I knew they knew it was cat related though they were probably puzzled as to why it warranted such anguish. Ross emailed to ask if everything was ok. I replied apologising for being ‘a bit of a mess’ (massive understatement) before telling him Pro P had been brutally murdered by a car (massive overstatement). I was glad the three of them felt the best way to deal with high level female emotions was by ignoring them. I started my mourning process digitally by uploading photos onto Twitter, Facebook & Instagram. My lovely friends were very sympathetic. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever love my own child as much as I loved him’ I announced to no one in particular and anyone who listened.

 On Wednesday, Benji and I walked to Sloane Square together after work.

‘So are you recovered?’ he asked.

‘From what?’

‘From whatever it was that meant you were in floods of tears, like a broken dam, yesterday.’

‘Benji, Professor Puffin is DEAD. I’ll NEVER recover.’ We carried on walking. The subject was quickly changed so he could tell me about a tramp he once saw that had shat himself. After that beautiful anecdote, he paused.

‘The way I see it Rosie, is that at least you still have Professor Puffin.’

‘What?! Benji, he’s the one that died. We still have Google.’

‘Well, it was 50/50 on the names. You know what I meant.’

 We had a Board meeting on Thursday. ’I’ll pay you £50 if you can burst into tears during the meeting’ Ross said.  As the various members arrived, Francie came up to me. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your cat Rosie, Ems told me.’ The £50 seemed a little bit more achievable. Professor Puffin wasn’t on the agenda though I was tempted to bring him up when it came to AOB.

As Thursday drew to a close and we started packing up, the boys were talking about how slow the week seemed to have gone.

‘Urgh, it’s been a veritable rollercoaster of emotions’ I joined in.

‘Yes, we noticed’ said Ross

‘I basically had a year’s worth of period emotion in one day’

I watched them visibly shudder and cackled. I always enjoy a good period joke in an office of boys, even if it arose from a loss.

Now that the first hump of emotion has died down & I’m able to think vaguely more rationally about life sans The Professor, one dreadful thought has struck me. What the hell am I going to talk about on dates?

Sir David Cattenborough