Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Jane never liked catnip

Jane never liked catnip. Sally was an avid connoisseur, but jane never wanted anything to do with it. It was a dreary, wet Sunday the day we buried Sally, and Jane had gone into hiding that day, curled up in some cozy corner oblivious to the loss that had happened. All that following week, Jane pretty much went about her business as usual, but it became increasingly apparent that she felt "something" just wasn't right. We wondered if she understood, and figured her tiny little brain probably couldn't process what had happened.  Another big difference between Sally and Jane was that Sally had the ability to communicate. Sally could very clearly tell us what she wanted, if something wasn't right, or even what was on her mind when she filed her  'daily grievance'. We always understood Sally in full sentences, with correct punctuation, footnotes, and cataloged references. Jane was lucky if she could tell us she wanted milk or if the food bowl was low.
  But one week, to the day, after we buried Sally on a dreary Sunday morning, Jane started scratching the floor where we always spread out Sally's catnip. We thought it odd, and sprinkled some weed for poor little Jane who could never communicate to the level that he mother had been able to. Jane snubbed the catnip and marched to the back door, insisting to go outside. I again indulged her, as she hadn't been out for nearly a week. To my amazement, Jane trotted in a straight line to the new flowerbed we had dug, and stood directly beside the daisy that we planted over top of her mother. She stood there motionless until she was sure we had recognized her act, then trotted off, knowing full well that she had just told us in a full sentence, with correct punctuation, footnotes, and cataloged references that she knew her mother Sally had died, and that she was now resting underneath the daisy in the back yard.

6 comments:

  1. Bless little Jane. My ex-feral friend Matilda was 6 when we got tiny George, and she was tolerant but not particularly affectionate to her energetic new partner in crime. He adored her, with way too much gusto! We moved to this new cottage 6 months ago and poor Milly died shortly after of a tumour, I made sure George saw me burying her in the newly dug flower bed and have seen him sat there often since. He definitely mourned for about a fortnight and kept taking toys to the place where she usually lay. It's strange when animals can't speak but can communicate with us.

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  2. I am so sorry. Thank you for sharing that beautiful story.

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  3. So sorry about that... Animals are so awesome...

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  4. That is an utterly charming, sweet-sad story.

    Bonnie (aka RoxyBlue)

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  5. That was beautifully written.

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  6. What a bittersweet story.
    They know . . . even IF they are of few words . . . they know ;-)

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