Saying goodbye to Bobby, part 3

I woke early on Friday in a still apartment, made tea, and sat in my wicker chair. And thought, and remembered... 

Bobby suddenly leaping up to race around the house, bouncing off the furniture like a furry pinball.

Bobby face to face with a big rat snake in the yard, both of them stuck in The Gaze, two predators staring at each other over a frog that was holding itself very very small and still.

Bobby claiming the ultimate warm spot in bed by silently threading his way between the two dogs sleeping on either side of me to settle on my chest.

Bobby getting breakfast when he wanted it by waking the dogs in the morning, because once I was up to let them out, he could beam the "food thought" directly into my head.

Bobby watching as I worked to train Shadow to ring a bell hanging from the doorknob by bopping it with his nose when he needed to go out (his original method of asking was to sit in front of the door and stare at it, which, as I was often in another room, did not always catch my attention). Thereafter, when I heard the bell and came to the door and saw Shadow there with Bobby, I praised my dog effusively, and opened the door. But one day, as I was working at the computer in my office, I heard the bell, started to go into the next room to the door, and tripped over Shadow, who was sleeping by the desk. When I stumbled into the next room, Bobby was still up on his hind legs, swatting the bell with his paws.

Bobby training our dear former landlord to offer him treats.

Bobby disemboweling every cat toy I ever bought (unless Shekinah beat him to it).

Bobby nipping at my ankles when I vocalized up into the high notes, and saying "mau!", which is Cat for "That's really very annoying".

Bobby getting old, Bobby getting weak, Bobby losing his balance in every way.

When I arrived at that memory, it was time to go.

I carried the crate to the car, and drove upstate to my sister's house. There, Babette had already started to dig a hole in the corner of a small field. Together, we dug it deeper and wider, and then I emptied the tin of Shadow's ashes into the hole, opened the carrier, and lifted Bobby out to put him down on the ashes of his favorite dog. I had brought some prayers with me, and my sister and I read them. Or she did, mostly. I couldn't. We placed a clean linen cloth over his face, and, kneeling on either side of the hole, started to put the cool, damp earth back. We used our hands. They knew what to do. Side by side, sister hands.

When all the dirt was replaced, we smoothed the surface and moved a couple of slabs of slate on top, to protect the little grave from digging creatures. Babette went indoors to put the kettle on, and, after a little while, I followed her.

I am writing this a week later, on a grey day, waiting for the wind and rain that is predicted to be our NY share of Hurricane Earl. I miss my cat. But in this death my body has played its part by taking him to the vet and bringing him home and watching in the night, by petting him and holding him, by hearing his great silence, by lifting him and setting him down and covering him and smoothing the dirt over his grave with my hands. All that I could do, all that I needed to do, I have done.

I understand something more now about what the body wants, and about the sacredness of flesh.

Bobby stole my heart, and has given it back all the better for wear.