The Little Brown Box

At the end of our couch, towards the middle of the living room, there sits a little, brown box. It is surrounded by some plants and a giraffe statue. To the unknowing eye, it is simply a piece of decor. For me, it holds ten years worth of unconditional love.

I was kind of grumpy today...whether it was just the Monday blues or something more, I'm not sure. All I know is that when I got home from work, I felt like having a good cry. My brother, Britt, phoned shortly after supper. When I asked how he was doing, he said, "Not bad. But I lost Murdoch last night". His cat had stepped on the edge of the tarp that covers the pool, he fell to the bottom, crashed through the thin ice that was covering the foot or so of water at the bottom...and he drowned. I held back my tears as I was talking to Britt, but after we hung up, the water works started. I thought about how poor Murdoch must have struggled and been so terrified. I don't think it would have taken very long for him to die, but still, those minutes would have been absolutely agonizing. And I cried and cried and cried.

While I'm pretty sure the amount of tears had something to do with the icky mood I was in today, I also know that I have a larger space in my heart for animals than some people do for their children. I cry instantly when I see commercials that plead for our help to end animal abuse. But barely an emotion stirs in me when I see the World Vision commercials. I know, I know...I'm a heartless bitch, right? There's just something about the innocence and naivete about animals that pierces right through me. People would argue the same thing about the third world children, but to me there's a difference...it's just not one that I can put into words.

Since actions speak louder than words, my actions convey my love for my pets. When my beloved, Desch, died seven years and one week ago, I couldn't bear the thought of burying her. So Mike and I took the little money that we had at the time and we had her cremated. I hadn't even known you could do that to pets. When her ashes came back to us, I sealed them in the porclein jewelry box my grandma had made for me years before. She made it because it looked like Desch.

Shortly after we bought our house, we had to put our cat, Nina, down. She was bat-shit crazy and no one in their right mind would have taken her. In the final hour before we had to go the vet, Nina found a way into our cold-air intake vent and was stuck. My last hour with her was spent cutting away pieces of our sub-flooring to get her out. It's tough to operate a drill saw with tears in your eyes.

So, my two pretty kitties now lie in the little, brown box in our living room. While I may only think of them now and then, it comforts me to know they are still nearby. And that they aren't buried somewhere in a cold, far away field and all alone. I may now have some of you thinking that I'm bat-shit crazy, so maybe I'll end the post there. And not tell you about the cat locket with the ashes in it. Or the little baggies that hold their fur. Or that their favourite toys are tucked away with them. Oops. Too late.