You Can't Keep A Good Cat Down
First, a poem from Kate Murray:
God bless all pussycats
And keep them safe and warm
Especially those who are in heaven.
Give them a safe path to the Rainbow Bridge
And if they have no human friend help them to find one.
And today especially bless Hector
who showed us that even Basement Cats are full of love
(especially for those who give him smoked rabbit).
Give him lots of prey to chase and subjects to rule with a firm yet gentle paw
and salmon to fress, Amen.
Thanks to the gods for a hideous head cold/'flu that showed up yesterday morning. We are much less torn by grief when we're dripping snot out of our skulls. Digging a deep hole through rocky soil is no fun with aching muscles and a fever, but it's a lot better than trying to do it bawling the eyeballs out of the head.
Hector was washed down one last time, then formed into a comfortable position on a towel in the cold back-bedroom shelf. When he'd cooled down (putting any warm cells into a cold hole gives me the willies), his fur looked like it had as a young cat, thick, dark and rich, with only a few grey hairs. He was wrapped in an old quilt I'd made years ago, and then into an old tatami. He was given his bowl and plate and bits of nice food, including smoked rabbit, cheddar and milk. Unfortunately, I think I gave him the soymilk. I will have to go pour real milk on the grave (the cat equivalent of the human bottle of whisky). I also forgot the margarine and butter. I'll have to do something about that. We've dedicated the spirits of all protein we'll eat to him and the other cats. Or he will be back stomping on my pillow with dirty feet: "WTF??? Fake milk? Are you high?"
His grave was planted with white Dutch clover and dark red and pink Columbines.