I like the photograph above for two reasons.
First, Tobey looks glorious and we are definitely bonding - although my toothy grin is a bit unsettling (probably because the image is cropped and half my face is missing).
Second, the sofa we're lounging on sticks in my memory - I loved its satin-like feel - a bit of luxury that I can recall from my Southern Louisiana upbringing in the mid-1980s.
Smokey was our family's first cat pet. She had babies - and it was my first introduction to mammalian live birth (no epidural). Smokey had her babies in a cardboard box layered with a soft blue blanket. I remember we all - my brothers and mother - witnessed it. I was grossed out by the part when Smokey licked the placenta off her cat babies (I was eight - so anything wet and slimy was disgusting).First, Tobey looks glorious and we are definitely bonding - although my toothy grin is a bit unsettling (probably because the image is cropped and half my face is missing).
Second, the sofa we're lounging on sticks in my memory - I loved its satin-like feel - a bit of luxury that I can recall from my Southern Louisiana upbringing in the mid-1980s.
We kept one of the cats from Smokey's litter and named him Tobey. We gave the rest of 'em to the Humane Society.
The truth was - Tobey was more Persian than his mother's Tabby appearance. He'd stay close to his mother a lot - picking off birds in the backyard of our suburban house in LaPlace, Louisiana.
One Summer day I found Tobey in our garden near the air conditioning unit. He was laid out on his side as if he'd been sprinting. I knew right away he was dead.
Mom said he probably ate freon. That was probably true even though I had a guilty feeling I'd killed him. I used to place in the garden - digging holes, burying weird toys - who knows what eight-year-olds dig up and bury. It's a separate thing being eight. I can't restore the "me" of then to the "me" of now.
Anyway. I balled my eyes out crying at Tobey's funeral. My father, who was not known for his tact, was irritated by my display of emotion. I think I just had an immediate response to the clear-sharp dagger cut off of death - and I didn't want Tobey to be buried. Normal, right?
We did bury him in the backyard. Wrapped in a black plastic bag. No adornment.
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