I went back to Ireland for a month this summer. It rained everyday and my cat was killed by a car. Pretty depressing really. Among all this greyness and sadness I noticed that a pet dieing was very much a ritual in my family (as I'm sure it is most family's)and that we always went through the same motions, searching, finding and burying. Mum , Dad and myself would desperately search, Dad would always find the animal dead, Dad would always bury the animal..alone. I tried to document the whole process in 3 ink drawings.The long picture with the most rain is my dad telling me he had found the cat and he was dead. Although they seem depressing these images made me feel better, i had managed to document something that had always happened and had always been relatively quickly forgotten. The cat's name was Francy. He was a bit of a dick...as most cats are.