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| Contact The Little Black Cricket He was that little spot of warmth in a big room with a tiny fireplace, you know? You might think I'm making a "cricket on the hearth" analogy... but I'm not. You don't even know what I'm talking about, I bet... You really, really, really don't want to get up, annoyed at your mom for peeling you away from the computer... and see an eighteen-month-old kitten without any inuries, sprawled out in rigor mortis in your dad's lap and partway covered by a blue bath towel. He was beautiful, you know? He had really long black fur and it was all silky. Except... well, you know how when you see a cricket or something, it's all shiny? But when it dies it goes dull? Yeah. Think little black kitten, and you'll have some idea of what Clifford looked like... This time I'm determined not to cry too much. When you get sucked into grief it's just a longer way to climb out. I sound really cold and heartless to you, don't I? It's not that I don't miss him. I feel like I lost a little brother. But I don't do crying. I'm going to probably shut myself in my room for the weekend, write, draw, repeat. And not cry. I will only cry when we bury him, when I really feel like it. Now, I can honestly say, it's better to put that energy into remembering him than into crying. Again, there I go, sounding awful. It's not like I'm not holding back tears, believe me, I am. My head hurts, I want to cry, but it's just not gonna happen... Arthur--- you know Arthur, he's my cat, he's eight-- he's sitting next to me on the floor. Normally he jumps up on my desk and gets in my way. Now he's just knid of sitting there, looking up at me, walking around. I told him, just now... he went outside. I'm not a cat, I have to understand the implications of somebody dying, it's part of how the human mind works. It does not force me to wallow in grief all weekend. I'm going to remember him in words and in pictures, and in thoughts. I told my friend, too. She apologized and I told her it's not her fault... because it isn't. You know how it happened? He went outside on Monday, we wondered where he was. He was old enough that he would definitely be enjoying himself out there. Just sort of hanging around, doing cat stuff, sniffing for mice, sitting and staring. Probably how he died-- lying there sleeping in the sand, and yes, sand, where I live we have gray, sandy soil. Asleep. And he had his heart attack... and that's it. He went like his brother-- quickly and painlessly. There I go being sentimental, but that's what this is for. I don't dare say it out loud the first time. I'll read it. But not say it. End of the page... huh, end of another chapter of My Life. You know something? I'm not a kid anymore. At all. For a while I still had that mindset, and I liked it. Not afraid to admit it, I liked it. But you know, I've lost two cats, brothers, very young, within a year of one another. Shocking realization: Sometimes, but not always-- let me be totally blunt, it really reeks to be you. And one of those times is when you've lost your little black cricket... |