In one of those cosmic ironies that fall out of the sky and remind you to value those things you have over the potentialities that you don't have, Winnifred was struck by a car this morning and killed. Boom, just like that, right in front of the house.
The driver knocked on the door, and then tactfully disappeared when I ran upstairs to get dressed (I was still drinking morning coffee). She had at least appeared to be genuinely shocked and saddened to find out it was my cat (I think she was hoping it was some unloved stray).
A week or so ago, trying to remember the title of a Robert Frost poem about a wave hitting the shore, I came across this poem by Archibald MacLeish on the Internet. I had recited it in High School -- went to State Finals with it, in fact -- as part of a typically teenaged view of "serious poetry"; my theme for recitation was The Apocalypse. I hadn't thought of the poem for decades until last week, and I find today it is running through my consciousness. It isn't the End of the World at Cattus Dommus -- instead, the resonance is with the excited circus, like a calico's coloring and her pent-up energy, followed by the suddenness of nothingness.
Tasha is still missing, too.
The End of the World
Quite unexpectedly, as Vasserot
The armless ambidextrian was lighting
A match between his great and second toe,
And Ralph the lion was engaged in biting
The neck of Madame Sossman while the drum
Pointed, and Teeny was about to cough
In waltz-time swinging Jocko by the thumb
Quite unexpectedly the top blew off:
And there, there overhead, there, there hung over
Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes,
There in the starless dark, the poise, the hover,
There with vast wings across the cancelled skies,
There in the sudden blackness the black pall
Of nothing, nothing, nothing -- nothing at all.
-- Archibald MacLeish
5 comments:
Poor Fred. When you told me over the phone, I thought that you were talking about Floyd, not Fred. At least she had found a good place to live, she died quickly and in little pain, and, possibly, doing what she liked doing.
And Percy is still missing. Hopefully he'll show up in the morning.
Don't bet on it. I think I've somehow wrecked my cat karma, and Percy would be affected by that, too.
Hang tight to your pets, folks, it's going to be a rocky week!
You've wrecked you katma (aka cat karma), and somehow Percy was affected by it? I don't believe it for one second! For one thing how could Percy be affected by you way out there on the West Coast (or as some have called it, the Left Coast) since he lives here in the Twin Cities and has NEVER been out of Minnesota, as far as I know. And for another thing, weren't you thinking not so long ago about finding another home for Fred? Well she's found just such a home now-a-days, at least that's if you believe that there is such a thing as a cat heaven.
P.S. You were saying about the House of Cats?
I'm so sorry, how very sad for you. Once again the great mystery, the great confusion...how can something so lively, so vital, so full of spirit, be suddenly stilled, suddenly be nothing?
From the distance of MN, Fred's story was always special, a sweet nursery tale, from the night she emerged from under the steps to find a new loving home. It isn't just that a calico cat has a special place in the 'verse; every pet weaves its way into our hearts. This ending to her story is just wrong.
That stupid driver (she said, moving into the anger stage of vicarious grief.) She was, without a doubt, driving too fast.
I'm so far away and with poor access to internet - I'm late hearing this. I'm so so sorry.
And I'm concerned about Tasha. I expected that she would be back by now.
And now I hear about Percy!
Oh Viv!
That's the thing about animals, you can't help but love them and they always end by breaking your heart.
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