TILDE

It was at the departmental coffee morning that I made the announcement.  I hoped the presence of homemade cake would be comforting and staff would come together to support each other through their grief over the coming days.

 

“I think some of you have heard the news I’m about to break.  I’m sorry to tell you that earlier today, while crossing the staff car park, Tilde was run over and killed.”

There were audible gasps, the faces of the men paled, Carrie the intern had to be supported into a chair by colleagues and Emily immediately demanded; “Who did it?  Who killed Tilde?”
“The individual is known to HR, but they’re not releasing their name,” I stated immediately, “it was a tragic accident and naturally the person is devastated.”
“Did she suffer?” Monica asked.
I shook my head; “I’d like to dedicate this coffee morning to Tilde.  Perhaps some of you could put on the ideas board ways we can remember her ...”
“I remember when I first saw her,” sobbed Carrie, “rooting through the rubbish bins.  She was never scared of us.  I remember seeing her fishing out a sandwich and eating it all in one gulp ...”
“I saw her catch a rabbit,” added Paul.
“I got used to seeing her every morning out of the window,” Monica sniffed.
“I took loads of pictures,” Jasmine said enthusiastically.
“That’s great, Jasmine.  Can I ask you to put them on the ideas board, so that we can all remember her, how she was ...?” I left the sentence hanging.
“Of course,” she replied.
The ideas came in fast, Emily documented them.
“We could have a memory page for Tilde on the Intranet with photos and captions.”
“A plaque near where she was run over.”
“A tree planted in her memory.”
“A homemade cake sale to raise money for the Wildlife Trust.”
“Excellent ideas,” I interrupted smoothly, “for those of you who wish to attend, there will be a short ceremony in the back car park.  Those who miss Tilde can say a few words and we’ll scatter her ashes.  Emily, perhaps you and Carrie could write a Eulogy?”
The request brought sobs from Carrie and a nod from Emily.
“After the ceremony I have arranged for counsellors to come in.  They’ll be available if you need them, but I hope that we’ll support each other too.  Please use this coffee break to share your ideas about remembering Tilde.  Perhaps Paul could put together a program for the memorial service.”

I left them speculating over who had killed their precious bloody fox.  During her shortened life, Tilde had paralysed productivity in my department.  Scores of staff had constantly stared out of windows at the mangy, flea ridden vixen, because observing a wild creature in the car park of a large organisation was so ridiculously fascinating to them.  Her death would cause a short term drop in productivity that would be more than offset by the return to pre-fox levels over the longer term.  Just wait until they see my figures for May.