The Burial of Liza the Cat.

Our cat was killed today. She was crossing the street in our quiet neighborhood, and speeding car crushed her and then barreled on down the road, failing, thankfully, to take the lives of any of the children who play on that street as well. Kyle heard the car go by, it was one of those, white trash, wanna be “Fast and Furious” cars that are souped up with money that should be getting spent on utilities and groceries, (or oh, I don’t know, BACKED UP CHILD SUPPORT PAYMENTS due to be made to 3 or 4 different baby mamas) but instead is spent adding ghetto features to a cheap car in an effort to make up for the fact that he’s a jobless loser with very small…. um, feet (No, I’m not mad.)

Our neighbor, Connie, (who was on her way to ward choir) found her in the middle of the road and, being the involved, observant neighbor that she is, knew that Liza was ours. Kortland answered the door and went and got Kyle. Connie, was discreet, and sensitive, and wonderful and pulled Kyle out front so that Kort wouldn’t hear. Kyle came in and told me to come outside. By the time I got shoes on and headed out, Kyle was spraying down the gutter. This immediately gave me a sick, sinking feeling. He hadn’t said anything to me about what was going on, because he didn’t want to upset Kortland. When I got out to the road, I found out it was Liza. Connie scooped me up into a big hug right there on the sidewalk, and let me soak the shoulder of her beautiful red cardigan. (Man I love my neighbors. Can I just take a minute and tell you how much I love ALL of my friends and neighbors? We are surrounded on all sides by seriously incredible people.)

We told Kort, and it was awful, of course. He sat on the couch and hugged me silently for a long time. Then he went to his room to be alone. About 20 minutes later, he came in carrying one of Liza’s whiskers. She loved to lounge in his chair (which sits in the sun for several hours while he’s away at school) and one of her whiskers had fallen off onto it. He brought it in to me, and sighed and said “Here mom, this is one of Liza’s whiskers. This is all we have left of her now.” Then we both had another good cry.

Wow, this sucks.

We buried her up Hobble Creek Canyon next to Binx and Hamstery, and it was a beautiful day. Thank heaven that a picture paints a thousand words, because I’m too exhausted to write much more. Love to you all. I hope your Sunday morning was better than mine.

Kort got tired of waiting for dad to dig the grave after awhile, so he went off to explore instead.
Singing along the way.

Do you suspect that he's hiding something special behind his back?

He certainly is! Flowers for mom. Kort always knows just what to do. He always manages to infuse light into even the darkest moments of our lives. It was truly incredible to witness the way he sat on the couch next to me and just let me hold him. He didn't try to tell me "Everything was okay" or "Not to cry." He didn't say anything at all. He just hugged me and gave of his time, and his love and his presence. He seriously didn't move for 10 minutes straight. Just hugged me and patted my back. He can be such an old little soul sometimes. Isn't it amazing the way your blessings become so tangible and real in times of sorrow? My heart is seriously broken right now, but I also feel like I am so blessed. For example, I am feeling very blessed that that speeding idiot killed my cat instead of my child or one of the other sweet little children in our neighborhood. (For starters.)

Kortland wanted to be the one to carry Liza from the car. She's wrapped in the blanket that we kept at the bottom of my side of the bed where she slept. It's actually a pretty expensive throw that matched the drapes and pillows in our bedroom, but I can't imagine seeing it everyday... that is, unless I'm planning on having a nice solid break down once day, and nobody wants to have to deal with that. Plus, it really was hers, and it's only fitting that she be laid to rest in it.

Once the flowers were placed on the grave, Kortland decided that we should have a memorial bonfire in Liza's honor. He offered to start said fire by rubbing two sticks together. We wished him luck. He gave up about 30 seconds later and asked dad to go throw rocks into the creek with him instead.
So they went. (Because his dad is awesome.)

And patient. Like, the kind of dad who stands and waits (pleasantly...and happily) for five minutes while his six year old explores a rotted log full of bugs that he found on their way down to the creek. Yeah, you know those blessings I was telling you about? He's another MAJOR one.

THE END.