Burial

A very kind couple who are dear friends of ours live near a lake outside of town.  They offered to let us bury our cat on their property (my ex was fearful of burial inside the city limits).  We drove out to this beautiful place, situated next to a large pond that was an oasis for all kinds of wildlife.  I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen wildlife.  I didn’t care.  The only important thing was that it had rained recently and the earth was relatively easy to dig.  We worked silently beneath a gray, threatening sky until we had constructed a deep enough hole, almost perfectly round.

I lifted our kitty, still wrapped in my silk blouse, and stroked his soft black fur for the last time before I laid him gently in his grave.  We added a few of his favorite toys that we had chosen for him.  In the pond, the frogs started to call to each other as we shoveled the pile of dirt into the grave, covering our kitty forever.  Our friends had left three heavy stones to lay over the grave, and once that was done, I walked away as rapidly as I could to the car, wanting only to escape the grim task we had completed.

My ex tried to get me to talk, touched my shoulder, my knee, but I didn’t want anyone to touch me.  I couldn’t speak.  We drove the twelve miles back to town, picked up a prescription for me and some liquor, and went home.