the post I didn't want to write
trivial and not

I come not to praise Mooch but to bury him

Yesterday, we put the Mooch in the garden.

I had to pick him up at the vet's, which is where he was being kept until we could get a hole dug. I brought a box. I figured it would be big enough, simply because it was a box he had used as a bed in the past.

The vet tech took the box and came back a few minutes later. "He doesn't fit," she said, "since I can't really curl him up because he's frozen." She dug out a roll of packing tape and left again.

When she returned, she hadn't me the box, which was half taped shut. A blue bag poked out of the other end.

"It's a little awkward," she said, apologetically.

"Of course it is," I said. "He was that kind of cat."


The Pie Goddess, the Grill Master and kids brought flowers, picked because they looked strange, like Mooch.

We untaped his awkward box and placed him in the ground.


We did unzip it a) to make sure that we can the right catsicle, b) to make sure his favorite toy was in there with him and c) to let wee critters in to do their work of returning him to his base elements. Which were base indeed.

Words were said. A haiku from Scott's sister was read:

redolent of pee
a home lacks its psycho cat
the trout stands alone

Dirt was flung on his body, as were flowers.


Right now, the rock marks the spot. Eventually, after the spring thaw, which we hope won't heave him out of the ground in a rejection by the earth type deal, we'll get a more appropriate marker. Maybe a rock that warns of evil beneath. Something along the lines of abandon all hope all ye who dig here.

Trout, since I mentioned him, seems to be handling his grief.


I keep bursting into tears -- but worry not for the Trout. He's very handsome. Dim as a bucket of hair, but handsome.


I had some time to finish up some knitting while sitting with the ailing Mooch.


Modeling shots -- and a post that doesn't mention cats either living or dead -- tomorrow.


Yeah, it takes awhile before you stop "seeing" the cat out of the corner of your eye... I was a sodden mess for weeks when Esther (our pre-Nina cat) died. After about 2 months of this sad, catless existence the Swede suggested we stop at the Humane Society on Kingston Pike, "just to look." There was a certain tiny kitten named Nina, who grew into the ungainly, hysterically funny 10-year-old (!) feline who purred me awake this morning.

I may have mentioned, Trout reminds me so much of Joseph, my childhood cat who's been gone for 20 years now. Appearance-wise, anyway -- Joseph was clever in a sly sort of way.

Good to see that Mooch stayed true to his nature 'til the bitter end.

Ooooh. Nantucket Jacket is done? Awesome! I've only ever gotten to see one of those in the wild, when a knitter at SPA wore hers.

Love the phrase "dim as a bucket of hair," and may use it in reference to Milo, my dog with two working brain cells, neither of which functions at the same time as the other. He once tried to eat a glass lampshade.

The evil that cats do lives after them . . .

Trout is neither clever nor sly. Sweet and gentle, certainly, but not even an average student.

I keep seeing Mooch around the house. Makes me cry, it does.

And, yup, the Nantucket is done. Pixs soon.

The "bucket of hair" phrase is one I stole from someone else. Fits tho. Milo sounds like a charmer.

Oh, I remember the phantom kitty sightings.

Steel yourself for the day months from now when you find a stray Mooch hair on a polarfleece coat.:(

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