talktooloose: (Pop_Gun_Sinclair)
[personal profile] talktooloose
1.
When Claudius, the cat was beginning to die in December, the dog and I went onto the back patio and there, curled up in his usual position on the chaise longue, was Claudius. This was weird because it was too cold for him to be hanging out there and, besides, I was pretty sure he was inside.

The dog found it strange, too and went up to sniff him. The cat rose up, hissing and took a swipe at the dog. It was then I realized (we both did, I suppose) that it was another almost identical cat. A death doppleganger, I now think.

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2.
Life and death are not serial. I have clear images in my head of both Claudius's living face and his dead face. The latter does not eclipse the former. His life and death are kalaidoscopic in my memory. This is also true of his time of wellness and time of illness.

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3.
I understand ghosts better. The house is full of after images of the cat. Everywhere I look, I can superimpose the cat as he sat, walked or slept in that place. At four o'clock, his afternoon feeding time, I can hear his scratchy demands.

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4.
His remains are still in our garden shed. If it were summer, we would have buried him, but the ground is too hard. We've thought of leaving him somewhere wild, but we don't have a car and anyplace sufficiently wild and remote is buried under too much snow. Also, I'm too busy. Isn't that awful? The practical aspects of death?

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5.
The practical aspects of death. It was our duty to do things like put his remains in a garbage bag before we took him outside. It is our duty, still undone, to empty his litter box, clean it and store it. I've run his hunter green food dish through the dishwasher, but I don't know where to put it. There is no designated spot for the dishes of dead pets. So it's sitting on the counter, patiently and somewhat mockingly.

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6.
The remains are not Claudius, but I'm glad I shut his mouth before his body became stiff. It was hanging open from his last attempts to get oxygen into his system, probably following a final heart attack. Until I closed it, he seemed to be still struggling.

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7.
We used to have two gerbils, Nora and Blanca. Blanca got some kind of cancer, the overt sign of which was a large tumour on her jaw. Like Claudius, she seemed content enough during her decline. As Blanca grew thinner and weaker, Nora spent hours grooming her. We came in one day and found that she had died. Nora was standing oblivious on top of her, the way she would stand on a rock or a log, chewing peacefully on a sunflower seed.

Gerbils don't see ghosts.
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