I can’t believe it, but I’m still sad about Peanut dying. I miss that damn cat, and am sad that my last interaction with him alive was kicking him of Grammy’s bed. He was such a big, hairy oaf–the nemesis of my asthma and allergies. Every time I vacuum I feel like I’m getting rid of the last remnants of him!
Shawna told me that yesterday Grammy said, “Peanut was my best friend.” God, it breaks your heart!
Well, I’ve been pretty low key these past few days. Peanut dying has been hard on all of us. At first I didn’t know how Grammy was doing. It came pretty sudden and although she knows about death I wanted to make sure that she was comfortable with talking about.
So when we went to the grocery store the other day we talked about how Peanut got ran over and how we had to bury him.
Then we got home and she went into the spare bedroom where Murphy (our “special cat”) was sleeping. Graem closed the door. I went to the bathroom.
Through the walls I heard Graem say “Murphy, Peanut died today. He got ran over by a car and we had to bury him. It’s alright.”
Then I walked in and Graem was lying on the futon inches from Murphy’s face. It was so sweet and endearing. It was sad that Grammy had to break the news to Murphy about her buddy Peanut.
For the first time in weeks, I was able to get up early enough and quietly enough to sneak out early for work today. I had planned on taking the bus in, so I could rescue the one stranded car at work. I had walked out to the bus stop and was a few minutes early. Someone else was waiting with me, so I said “Hi.” I was anxiously waiting, watching for the bus when I looked down toward our intersection and saw a largish, orange pile in the middle of the road. I started wondering, Could it be Peanut? By the time that thought finished, I was running. I looked, and was 90% sure it was him. In the meantime, the bus pulled up, and for some reason, I got on it, paid my fare, and told the driver, “I think that’s my cat.” Simultaneously, I called Shawna and left her a message that I thought Peanut was dead.
I sat down, and she called back. I told her, and started crying. I said, What should we do? Should we get him out of the road? Should I get off the bus? Clearly, I don’t function well around death. When my mom died, I had planned on going to my meeting the next day. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I hopped off the bus at the next stop and started running home, panicking now. I stopped at the intersection again to confirm it was him. It was, and I ran home. I called Shawna and asked her to help me. By the time I got to the driveway, she had Graem in the car. I grabbed a box and a shovel to scoop him up.
We pulled up on the shoulder next to him, and in spite of the fact that I was walking towards a dead cat with a white box and a shovel, I had to flag people to slow down. I scooped up as much of him as I could–it was a mess. I cried on the way home, and we explained to Graem that Peanut was gone.
As soon as I got home, I went to our magnolia tree–which has become the spot for all dead things, unfortunately–and started digging. With the pickax, the shovel…furiously. It was hard–roots everywhere, we had to get the pruners to cut them back. Graem and Shawna watched as I did my best to dig–why was that cat so huge?? We told Graem again that Peanut was dead and she said, “But Peanut’s my friend!” I told her he was my friend too, but he got hit by a car. When I finally got a hole big enough, Shawna took Graem away so I could pour Peanut’s remains into the hole, and cover up his really mangled parts. I left his head and his front paws sticking out. I pet his head one last time and told him goodbye, and that we loved him. Graem and Shawna each took handfuls of dirt and helped bury him.
I couldn’t really get a hole deep enough, so I thought we should put something heavy on his grave, to keep the animals from getting him. I rolled one of our huge logs from the side of the road onto his grave. We then found some small fieldstones from the hole I dug and placed them on top of the log.
I guess I was the saddest. Graem kept saying, “I know Mommy, don’t be sad,” and hugging me.
Why does this keep happening to us?
Our cats have truly evolved into natural born killers. Every morning I leave for work, I cringe as I open the screen door dreading what beast I may find in the driveway.
This morning it was a tiny baby bat. It reminded me of the bat scare we had a year ago, when I took the decomposing bat to the Health Department to test it for rabies. The bat was practically mush, so they couldn’t test it for anything. I was afraid of everyone in the house getting rabies, but the vet said it was unlikely. So, this year, I just scooped it up with a plastic bag and threw it in the trash.
Next to Thursday’s dead mouse. Thursday night when I was letting Bailey back in, I noticed that she skulked quickly into the mudroom. I saw that she had a dead mouse in her mouth, so I screamed until she dropped it, kicked her back outside, yelled at Grammy to get back into the house so I could properly contain the dead mouse. Grocery bag, into trash.
At least these tiny rodents, winged or not, are more easily contained. It’s the rabbits that are a problem. The innards strewn across the driveway, and then the search for the remainder of the carcass are the more daunting (and disgusting) tasks. It’s always interesting to see which bits don’t get eaten…
When will winter come?
but death is so final. I still think about it from time to time, and the thing that strikes me is that I no longer have a mom. Even in the state that she was in, she was just there, someone thinking about me, on whatever level she could. And now she’s not.
Maybe part of me always wondered What if, and Maybe…two dangerous things. Part of it could be because something all the adults gave us when we were 6 and 9 was hope–and we all know that hope was all that was left in Pandora’s box when she finally closed it after releasing all the evil and hate into the world.
I have a bad relationship with hope. I’m bitter about the dozens of birthday wishes wasted on hoping Mom would “get better,” when I think everyone around me knew it would never happen. Hope that one day she would just be able to talk–nothing more–if only I could hear her voice again.
It’s hard to look at the pictures–all the ones I have are from when we were kids, when she was well and a person. I think I had one picture from when I went to the Philippines last, and I “lost” it–we all know there’s no such thing as an accident.
The one thing that brings me peace at this moment is the idea that perhaps now she can see and hear me, us, her granddaughter, and not have to resign herself to mere thoughts and pictures.
The ongoing antics of two thirty-something *gasp* mamas raising a four-year-old daughter and an eight month old daughter.