I had something sad happen to me this week.
I had a kitten and he died Tuesday morning.
This was of course very difficult for me, as he was very young and, even though he’d been sick, I wasn’t really ready for him to die.
So after finding him dead that morning, I cried, wrapped him in a paper bag that had formerly held whiskey bottles, and put him in an airtight container that had formerly held spinach.
Then, unfortunately, I immediately had to go into work.
Six hours later I returned, realized I really needed to get this cat buried, and then realized I didn’t have a shovel. Or a place to bury him.
So I sent out a mass text asking Do you own a shovel?
People were a little concerned.
But eventually my roommate got hold of a friend who found his parents who had a shovel.
Went to pick it up, then headed out to the nearest state park. But once we were out there there were too many cars around to bury him out there. I mean, it was after dark, we had a shovel, would be digging a grave. And there’s also the whole issue of legality.
So we bailed on that idea and set out to find another place to bury him.
First, we seriously considered a nearby park. Still illegal, but there was less likelihood of being caught.
Then I called every friend in town who has a back yard, but found out it’s actually illegal to bury pets within the city limits. Which I’m pretty those who actually live here and aren’t in a rental ignore, but people were unwilling to break the law when there were landlords involved.
I called almost everybody I know. My roommates called almost everybody they know.
Finally, at about 11 p.m., we got hold of of a friend who lives outside of the city limits and has a large backyard.
So we headed out there, with a shovel in the trunk and a dead cat in the back seat, and then proceeded to bury my cat.
It was after midnight when we finished, but I’m rather proud of what my roommate said as we put him in the ground.
“You were a good Gollum.”