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...last regretful people get into their cars to leave, the wind stays moment longer, fingering the fresh grave, before whipping away to think of what it has witnessed.
But when the wind blew on Moon's funeral, it didn't cry It didn't mourn. It didn't even need a handkerchief. The coffin it should have watched was too small for its tastes, the mourners too few for it to even deem this a proper funeral. After all, it was spring, and the wind was no more than a lazy-boy breeze, blowing loose things around like a bored child kicking at tin cans. The wind didn't care about Moon. But I did.
MOON HAD HER START as a small white kitten in a pathetic little "Free to Good Home" basket at a yard sale. Mom and Daly were digging through piles of stained clothing and broken toys as I wandered around, bored out of my wits. Yard sales were ridiculous to me, like saying, "Here, take this stuff. It's so gross I don't want it anymore," or "We were too fussy to sell our stuff on eBay so we'll sell it here at the same outrageous price." I had just skirted a large haystack of skis and bent ski poles when I saw the basket. It was across the street, at the very foot of the driveway; too obvious that these kittens were unexpected and unwanted.
I was a cat-lover born and bred, growing up in a house where it was impossible to wear anything black in public or to escape the dreaded litter-box routine. I was totally ready to bring another member into the family, as one of our three cats, Smoky, had died of old age just a few months before. So when I saw that basket, there wasn't anything to stop me. I practically plowed over Mason, the neighbor's seven-year-old, as he stood in front of the basket. He looked up at me with big sweet eyes and asked, "Do you want one, Jackie? Mommy says that they've all got to go today" How could I resist? Carefully, I inspected each of the darling little creatures. They were all white but one, which was gray I was drawn immediately to the gray one. He likes to stand out from the crowd, I thought in amusement. However, I could see that he was skittish and shy of people, backing away from my hand as far as he could. Mom would never let me make a project out of accustoming him to people, so I turned to the next. That was Moon. She was as friendly as her brother was nervous, and I was able to pick her up and rub my fingers through her silky kitten fur. She was the one for me.
"NO, JACKIE. Absolutely not." That was Mom's first reaction to Moon.
I begged, "But Mom, Smoky's been gone for months, and I need another cat in the house to complete our trio."
"We don't need any more vet bills than we...
NOTE: All illustrations and photos
have been removed from this article.
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