Last Friday the 13th of November, Toronto, Canada, at a formal dinner for a couple thousand Conservatives: the terrible news spreads, murmured in low voices.
Thatcher has died. Ceased to be. Joined the choir invisible. This is an ex-Thatcher.
Well, yes. It's awful. But no. Not that Thatcher. The Iron Lady was alive and kicking, or at least she was last weekend when somebody finally thought to call Buckingham Palace and check. But the Canadian transport minister's cat, also named Thatcher? Not so much.
The story from Guardian.co.uk here. And my sincere condolences to little gray Thatcher's family.