Compassion, From A Car Hop, In a Wooden Box

TODAY I KNEW that I would want and need my Route 44 Lime Slush. Happy Hour at Sonic, as America knows, is two to four, so that's when and only when I go. Two dollars is less painful than four to pay for a styrofoam cup full of ice, sugar, and artificial lime flavoring.I love 'em. There is no accounting for taste, as they say. The drawback is that when its above ninety degrees, their slushy icey machine gets behind, and has trouble keeping the slush frozen, Nothing is less sexy that a half frozen slush of any flavor, as teenagers will attest. Today the slush came fast, not that it always does. School wasn't out yet, and that helped. The young lady who brought it was friendly, and asked: "How are you today"? My first impulse was to mechanically utter the obligatory "fine", or "good", which I did. Then suddenly, I decided not to prevaricate. Actually, not so good, I opined. My cat died three days ago, and I am still dealing with the grief. Her response was immediate. "I'll pray for your cat", she offered. And she did, right there in my parking space, between speakers. Her words escape me now. Flagging memory of old age and perhaps advancing Alzheimers. But her words were moving, inspiring. I thanked her, and told her, honestly, that her prayer had made me feel much better. I drove off with a four dollar cup of flavored ice for half price, uplifted and inspired by the brief but sincere prayer of a teenaged girl. Hours later, I still felt the same way. Somebody cares, and told me so. It was enough, nearly, to rekndle my long lost faith in the human species. I tell myself that nearly everybody has loved and been loved by a loving dog or cat, has suffered their loss, and that fully forty percent of the American people indicate on surveys that they much prefer the latter to the former, cats and dogs over people. And why not? The choice is between unconditional rock solid unwavering unshakable love and loyalty, or stinking, conniving, deceitful self absorbed human beings. That hardly seems a choice. Within a few days I expect the vet to call and tell me that Remmi's ashes have been sent back from the animal crematorium, I guess it is, and surely they will mail me a nice note of condolences, which will help. I assume the ashes will come in one of those pretty little varnished wooden boxes, with her name in gold plate on the front. Very lovely, very dignified. Remmi's remains will go up on the fireplace mantle, along side those of Jake, Shylow, and Diamond. I have only three little wooden boxes. My sister, older than I, says she has dozens, all in a place of honor in her lavish home. Other cats are buried in my front yard, along the fence, in a pretty place among the shrubery. I don't actually have grave markers; ashes to ashes, dust to dust, we all return to the elements, no mattter where we make our final repose, whether we make it in full body armor or cremains. My mom's cremains are buried in a cemetary on the same gravesite as her parents, my grandparents. Baby is home at last and forever, with her mom and dad, her parents that she loved so much. I never knew my maternal grandfather. He died in 1943, twelve years before I was born. My loss. I am told he was a prince. My maternal grandmother, 1892-1971, a true Victorian farm woman, was an angel, and she and I loved each other until her death, when I was sixteen. My mother and father knew full well that I love my cats and dogs more than any human on Earth, including them. They understood without negative overtones or hurt feelings. My grief at the loss of Remmi, now three days old, is finally, slowly, abating, a gift, and an indication of my personal strength. As you age, you toughen up, with experience. My father told me when I was 15 that as I lived my life, I would get knocked down, over and over again, and that I would get back up, every time. And so it has come to pass. I am now back on my feet, waiting for Remmi to return to me in ashes, to join my other bygone beloved kittens atop my fireplace, while I go on, ready, willing, and able to get knocked down yet again.