22 December 2011

Under The Mulberry Tree

Since coming back to Lincoln, I've been trying to emotionally prepare myself for the imminent demise of my greyhound, Clay.  All of it was useless when we received the crushing news that our sweet grey tabby, RJ, was found dead at home.

His caretaker said there were no signs of trauma so the cause of his death is questionable at best: Was he struck by a car?  Did he get into rat poison?  Did a visitor's car leak antifreeze?  It is a mystery that I'll ponder for a long while.  What is most tragic is that he was a youngster--barely into the prime of his life. I've already wept until I had a headache and tears still rim my eyelids unexpectedly when I think about him.  Even my brother-in-law, who is deathly allergic to cats, affirmed that RJ was admirable even to people not fond of kitties.  Though I worry about his siblings and have wondered what life would be like without my darling felines should they all unexpectedly find their end, I have been lucky so far to have such affectionate pets.

As I've mentioned before, animals fill some very particular roles for me from entertainment to rodent control to free and very effective therapy.  He'll be buried under one of our mulberry trees, along side Magnus' twin brother, Cardigan.  My number one mole catcher will be sorely missed but we're happy to have had him and enjoyed his company as long as we did.

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