When Merle died it was a sorry affair.

After hating us all her life 

she wanted to be close with us in the end. 

Lol, who had always seen the good in her

brought her back to life briefly on the last day,

which had shown how much he meant to her I suppose.

 

But cats are only meant to last a certain amount of time-

less than what should be a life time,

more than some marriages,

longer than a bout of depression,

hopefully twice the time it takes you to get over a school bully.

They outlive baby teeth,

crushes on cartoon characters,

nerf guns,

childhood.

What must it feel like for a child to lose their living teddy bear?

 

So when we got Robert a year later

crimped little shitehawk, claws in most of the time,

as dark as Merle but not as dark as Merle

I thought about her last day-

 

Just me

a fourteen year old boy and a fourteen year old cat

‘Horrible innit?’ he said,

as I kept her close just in case she rose again.

‘Yeah. Might have been easier if she hadn’t suddenly announced

she loved us afterall.’

 

That night there was actually a thunderstorm-

apt for a tempestuous bitch such as she-

we dug a deep hole in the garden

at the place where she would position herself

to scratch our ankles as we went past her.

Lol, with dignity and that way boys can hold devastation

under a thick surface of what the world expects,

brought her out wrapped in a blanket,

kissed her on the head

and lowered her into the ground.

 

OH I know there’s worst things

than a flamin cat dying,

yet there’s no more profound

an emotion than the first time

your child experiences real loss.

 

I know one day he will be the same

with me,

kiss me on the head

and let go.

 

A dog rose grows over Merle’s grave,

she would have hated that. 

We still get scratched by her;

she would have loved that.

 

‘We’ll bury you next to Merle mum’

Lol half jokes...