In Mourning
November 22nd 2010 21:00
It was one sad funeral. My ex-neighbour bought a black and white box for a coffin and curled Higgins up into a ball before placing him inside the box. She also crossed his front paws. (“It was his favourite position,” she explained to me between sobs.) She opened the box and I had a look. At first, all I could see was black – black fur, black feathers, black inner box, black darkness. I moved closer and touched my old friend. He was stiff but not cold – just room temperature. It was almost as if he wasn’t dead at all; if it wasn’t for the fact his body lacked warmth, I would have sworn Higgins had fallen asleep in the box as cats love to do.
My neighbour put a birthday card on top of Higgins. I was wondering why she had bought such a card when she said, “It’s his birthday in a few days’ time. I was hoping he would live to his eleventh birthday but he didn’t make it.” Miggins came over to investigate but when he realised it was his brother, he did the bolt. I quickly read the card: She had listed all the names of people who loved Higgins, including me and Fred!
Poor Fred spent half an hour digging a grave while the sun began to set. When he dug a big enough hole, he put the box in the ground and then my neighbour tossed some flower on the box. Fred then shovelled dirt back into the hole. “Ashes to ashes,” cried my neighbour before I read out the Rainbow Bridge poem HERE. We wanted to have a mini funeral and that was what we achieved.
Fred had caretaking duties with other buildings so he left shortly after. I accompanied my neighbour back to her place, thinking she probably wouldn’t want to be alone at a time like this. We spent the night pouring over old photos of Higgins and talking about how empty she felt. I could easily empathise with her: That was exactly how I felt when Butterscotch went missing for a week.
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