July 29, 2008

• Ilsa

  I was all ready to go dancing Wednesday night when I thought I should check the temp to see if I needed a sweater.  I opened the front door to step out onto the porch when I saw Ilsa, my cat, curled up against the stoop.  It was odd that she didn’t move out of my way, and when I leaned down to get a closer look — I didn’t have my glasses on — I could see she wasn’t breathing. 

  I quickly shut the door and began to pace.  I knew something was up with her.  That afternoon I flashed on her, thinking something had happened.  She hadn’t come home the night before, which wasn’t that unusual.  These hot summer nights she liked to stay out late and hunt.  I’d find a dead shrew on the carpet the next morning. 

  I wondered how long she’d been dead, how hard her body would be.  Ewwww, I shuddered and paced some more.  I’d never touched a hard dead cat before.  As a vet tech, some 35 years ago, I’d bagged tons of dead cats and dogs, but they were warm and soft, and they weren’t mine.  I’d held her dying brother in my arms as the vet put him to sleep, just a year old.  He was such a cutie-pie; I still miss him. 

  Ilsa was too elegant and precious to be squished into a plastic bag but I was afraid the raccoons would get her if I left her on the porch.  I knew what I had to do.  I opened the door to see how long she’d been dead.  She was rock hard with not a scratch on her.  No blood, just a pool of clear liquid beneath her little body. 

  I put her in the refrigerator and called my brother.  He said I could bury Ilsa in his yard as my dog would surely dig her up.  He’d soak the ground so it would be easier digging in the morning.  I paced around some more and decided to keep my date with the Canadian, not wanting to be in the house. 

  I had two drinks, danced all night, and put her out of my mind.  The next morning I drove the cold bag over to find his girlfriend had the hole all  ready.  I opened the sack, trying to ease her into the dirt without having to touch her.  “I think I should widen the hole,” said Mary.  “Her head is too close to the surface.”  I didn’t want to put her to more trouble and I didn’t want to have to pull Ilsa back out so I picked up the tail and shifted her body so that she laid flat.  All this with no tears.  I think Mary thought I was being cold-hearted.

  Maybe I am.  I was so mad at first.  Just when she’d settled in around here and could actually walk by the dog without a huge chase scene.  She had begun sleeping with me every night, racing up the stairs ahead of me when it was time for bed.  She would always be curled up against the back of my thigh, tucked into the bend of my knee.  I can still hear her hit the floor in happy anticipation of watching the the water swirl in the toilet when I’d get up in the morning.

  In this last month she followed me everywhere, wanting to sit on my lap or help me get my make-up on.  If I went outside, so did she.  If I were on the computer she would be perched on top of the back of the couch.   I would always have to leave the downstairs sink running because she refused to drink out of a bowl.  The cushions to the couch had to be pulled up, even after the dog learned to stay down, because she liked to sleep where she would be squished if someone sat down.  I could never have a vase of flowers out because she’d dump it over trying to drink out of it.  Life is easier now but she had such a mystique about her that the house feels empty.

  I don’t even really like cats but this past month I began to see how cool she was.  Lately we were able to communicate telepathically.  She used to have to make this little noise in the back of her throat to tell me she wanted something, and then she’d either lead me to her bowl or the bathroom sink.  But lately I would just get the signal, look over at her, and follow.  I started noticing her more, looking her in the eyes and telling her how great she was.  This was maybe two weeks ago .

  Ilsa was beautiful in a muted way.  A barn cat, she was small.  She wasn’t a true calico but she was red, black, and white with the softest, most beautiful coat that always smelled good. She looked Egyptian, very regal.  But she was sweet and quiet, and had always kept to herself.  She fucked with the dog all the time but she did it on the sly.  After four years of tormenting each other they were finally friends.  Only now she’s gone.   

  • 3:38 pm
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