Never Ever Dull
With every conversation, I always seem to end with "Never a dull moment"....our lives are rich, complex, and beautiful stories. Join me in laughing about everyday things and appreciating life-bumpy roads and all.
I wasn't a cat person. Maybe it's because I'd never been around them until the day a mother cat tramped through our yard dropping off her kitty. The orange kitty with white paws lived by our drain pipe in the backyard. Every time one of the kids approached her, she limped quickly back into the protection of the drain pipe. My children wanted to feed her. Reluctantly, I contributed little bits of ham and bread to this cause. The kitty became more friendly. This continued for weeks and months with a sweet trust building between my littles and the orange and white kitty. Tripod. That's what we ended up naming her. She had four legs but one paw was deformed so much so that she only used three legs to get around. (Our family always ends up with your-not-so-ordinary pets.) Tripod eventually got to reside in our garage at night. When temperatures dipped below freezing, she was invited into the house. Gradually, she made it into my heart. (She was already in everyone else's hearts.) Tripod was amazing. She lived with us in NC, VA, and TN. She was funny. She would bring the 3 day old roadkill (aka dead squirrel) from down the street and present it to us as a gift. Thanks so much! In Charlottesville, her hunting skills reached a whole new level. Snakes, bunnies, chipmunks, birds, and mice were presented to us on a daily basis. As the perfect home school family, we would examine all the body parts and identify them. (That was kind of embarrassing to write but I think it's why Blonde Daughter #2 is a bio major.) In TN, Tripod chilled. At the age of 17, Tripod was jumping onto a chair to lounge beside me as I was working on my laptop. She didn't make the chair, fell, and lay on the ground in a stunned state. I called all my kids and we gathered around her as she passed away. Yep, just like that. It was a sad and touching time. She was the only critter to make it through all our moves and remained a constant companion to my people as they struggled through some turbulent events. Our tears dissipated as we realized we had no idea what to do next. We didn't have a yard to bury her in and I had no idea what we could do. Where would we bury her? We needed to have some sort of ceremony but where? So I headed upstairs to talk to the Sheets.... (Time Out: The Sheets are an incredible family that took us in following the sale of our home. They offered their basement to us so that we could finish up our school year, allowing me some valuable time to figure out our next move. They have huge hearts and even though we shared life with them for only six months, they played a huge role in our healing as a family. With 9 kids of their own, we blended right in.) Pondering how to ask without sounding too awkward, I headed upstairs to inquire what we should do with our dead cat. Remember she was like a family member but we have no yard to call our own to bury her. Thankfully, the Sheets family had no problem with us burying our furry friend in their perfectly manicured yard. It was a bit awkward to ask but the Sheets didn't hesitate to help us out with the details. Mr. Sheets placed Tripod in a shoe box. She was a little bigger than he expected but he managed pretty well. Then, the funeral. It was drizzling Icy drops of rain. But we decided to go ahead with the burial.... To the rescue again, Mr. Sheets stated he had found the perfect place behind a really big bush. He had already dug the hole in the frozen tundra. He quickly placed the box in the hole, muttering to me quietly that this might be against the Homeowner Association's Rules. (They live in a neighborhood with really high expectations of all their residents. Let's just say that we never saw one dandelion in any of the yards and the grass had to be kept a certain height). I notice how he looks up and down the street. With great speed, he places the box, shovels dirt over the area, and stands the shovel against the house. He looks around. No neighbors looking. The coast is clear. He relaxes since no one will be turning him in at the next home owner's meeting. It pours even more. He asked if he could pray over him. I reminded Mr. Sheets that Tripod was a "her". He did. Constantly correcting himself with that whole gender thing: "He, I mean she, was a great pet. He, I mean she, was a friend to all. His, I mean her, heart was sweet and kind. He, I mean she, was a great pet...." It went on. I glanced and noticed that the tears were gone and the misty eyed faces had grins as Mr. Sheets struggled to find words for a cat he had maybe seen once in those early weeks of our time of living there. Mr. Sheets realizes he needs to break the dreary scene and asks us to share about Tripod. We can't. We have lumps in our throats. But #8 in the Sheets family is ready to talk. (I forgot to mention that many of the Sheets littles came to this ceremony). #8 is a red-headed 4 year old who asks a lot of questions: "Is Tripod in heaven? Where is Tripod? Can I dig the box up and see if she's gone yet? How long does it take for her to leave the box? Can I dig the box up? Is she happy now? Can I dig the box up?" We all notice his little toes making their way to the dirt pile. He truly wants to dig and see what's happening beneath that dirt. To this day, I wonder if he did. #8 is very curious. It wasn't your typical cat funeral. I don't know what "typical" would be anyway. But I do know her life and funeral will always be remembered.
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AuthorFun-loving mom to 4 kids and 1 big puppy. Fifth grade teacher of amazing little people who have never ending things to share with me. Love to discuss Jesus, diy projects, and life. Trying to keep it simple: Love Jesus, love people. Archives
December 2021
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