curtkenobi | Grave-digging Part II (Reply)

I hurt. Most notably my eyes, my shoulders and my back. But I REALLY hurt.

This entry is not nearly as humourous as the last one -- of course, burying things is not supposed to be humourous, and it isn't, just the things round while you do it are.

Of course, grandmothers are buzzkills to twisted senses of humour.

So, I had to bury the cat that I have for the last three or four years claimed was posessed. She and I often rubbed each other the wrong way, but I mean, the cat screamed at me. It could say the word "milk". There's something...odd, there.

Yeah, but anyway, her name was Samantha. She'd lived with my grandmother for a long time now, and was seventeen years old. I think she died like right as we came back to my grandmother's house. I had poked her paw and thought her eyes opened...and then nothing.

So, since this wasn't amusing this time round, I'll just mention a couple lessons learnt:

1 -- Undertaking is a painful job. It's bloody murder on your back and shoulders.

2 -- Your flashlight-holding digging partner (well, not really since I did all the digging and the filling in) but the flashlight-holder will always move the beam at the exact moment you need it on the hole.

I think that's it for now.

Now for where the worries kick in. See, Samantha's name was originally Samuree. Don't know if anyone collected comics in the 80's, but yeah, named for that Samuree.

She was originally my dad's cat.

Her original owner was tossed off a balcony by her boyfriend and Sam was sent flying after. My dad took in Sam, him and my mum. After my mum and dad's falling out (shooting at the cat and your girlfriend intermittently does not a stable relationship make) my mum kept Sam.

Sam has had about as crappy a life as ours. From being moved everywhere, to having to stay with my ex-aunt (you have no idea how condemnable a fate that is), finally to stay permanently with my granny. Her last year wasn't the best, Sam's.

Okay, but the point is: she was originally my dad's cat. My dad is dying. And that...connection, no matter how obscured or tenative it may be, well, it scares me. And I know it's fair over-reacting, but... Ugh, I wish I could go back to being almost apathetic about it. Mum was the one that had to mention that.