In Memory of My Friend

 For a friend

Our thoughts and prayers to LC's family. She ran to the Bridge yesterday and became it's newest angel. I posted this poem when her brother Skeeter passed away a little over a year ago. I hope it brings some small comfort to LC's family. LC, someday we will meet at the Bridge, save a sun spot for me.

Where to Bury A Cat


There are various places within which a cat may be buried. We are thinking now of a tabby cat, a striped cat, whose coat was like watered silk, and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought. This cat is buried beneath a cherry tree, under four feet of garden loam, and at its proper season the cherry strews petals on the green lawn of his grave. Beneath a cherry tree, or an apple, or any flowering shrub of the garden, is an excellent place to bury a good cat. For beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer, or chased bees, or lifted head to challenge some winged intruder. These are good places, in life or in death. For if the cat be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that cat sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in kittenhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where the most exhilarating moles burrow. It is all one to the cat, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost -- if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a cat. One place that is best of all. If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have guessed, he will come to you when you call -- come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living cats, they shall not hiss at him, nor resent his coming, for he is yours and he belongs there. People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no mew pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a cat. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing. The one best place to bury a good cat is in the heart of his owner.
by Ben Hur Lampman, Portland Oregonian, 1921