Bury her deep, down deep,
Safe in the earth’s cold keep,
Bury her deep-
No more to watch bird stir;
No more to clean dark fur;
No more to glisten as silk;
No more to revel in milk;
No more to purr.
Bury her deep, down deep;
She is beyond warm sleep.
She will not walk in the night;
She will not wake to the light.
Bury her deep.“Cat’s Funeral” – E V Rieu
I first read this poem when I was eight years old. My form mistress was a poetry obsessive and we were subjected to it at every opportunity. She believed that she recognised in me a kindred spirit. This was something that I denied, but it didn’t stop her putting me forward to conduct poetry readings at the school assembly. But, then, I couldn’t deny deep down that Sea Fever did stir something in me and still does. And it was she who introduced me to Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats.
I recall the lesson where we read Cat’s Funeral and her asking whether the poet liked cats. It’s stuck in my head all these years. Of course he did. Even as an eight year old who had never had to carry out the sorry duty, I realised this. Our cat was about three years old at the time. We called her Timmy. This was because I got to name her before we realised that he was a she. The name stuck and the black fluffy cat carried the moniker for all of her ten years. One day in 1973, she walked out of the house never to return. We presumed that she curled up somewhere and died. So, I didn’t get to bury her.
Rieu’s words came back to haunt me the other week when I was burying Isis, and how apt they were. With several cats all of the same age, it is becoming a regular duty. A duty my next door neighbour chose to avoid by not having cats. She likes them and had one once, but it broke her heart when it died so she decided that the pain wasn’t worth it. Yes, it is painful and yes, sooner or later they are going to break your heart. As I lay Isis in the Earth’s cold keep, a little of me thought about her words – I could have avoided this pain. But, then, I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of fourteen years of companionship, and the amusement of watching her patrol the garden warding off intruders. Besides, my neighbour isn’t averse to, er, encouraging our cats, so she doesn’t exactly avoid the situation at all, she just keeps a little distance. I recall a little over fourteen years ago, we needed to take Tiffany to the vet. As was usual, she was nowhere to be seen. I went next door and there she was sitting on my neighbour’s husband’s lap. I was almost annoyed – she never did that to me.
And following Isis’ demise, we had a worry about Hatshepsut last week. She suddenly stopped eating. We tried to take her to the vet but she got wise and did a disappearing act. Then after about forty-eight hours I managed to coax her to eat some chicken. A day later, her appetite was back to normal, so we have no idea what was going on there – whether it was stress caused by the change in the feline compliment or she had an infection of some kind. Guess we will never know now.
Cats, eh?
“..whether it was stress caused by the change in the feline compliment or she had an infection of some kind. Guess we will never know now.”
Or grief?
Difficult to say. It happened a week after Isis’ death. She is back to normal now, nagging for food every time one of us goes into the kitchen – assuming that neither of us realises that the other has given in and fed her. She thinks we are stupid like that. She may have a point.
“For all the bruises, For all the blows,
I’d rather feel the Thorn, Than to never see the Rose”
Mary Black “The Thorn Upon The Rose”
And that goes doubly for claws too! (I swear I must resemble the perfect scratching post, as well as an obvious soft-touch for a free meal, to any feline within miles – just don’t tell anyone as I have my macho image to maintain, stop laughing! I can pretend can’t I? )
(and yes I use the same philosophy when I get dumped. Yes, I’m an incurable optimist – there has to be a short-sighted, desperate, lady with no taste and a weird sense of humour out there for me somewhere. hasn’t there?)
A very apt quote.
Lovely little poem – I hadn’t come across that before.
I think you (and others) have reported before that cats, especially older ones, seem prone to inexplicable “funny turns” and then seem to sort themselves out again.
A funny turn is putting it mildly. I was seriously thinking that we would be losing two cats in as many weeks.
Fat cat on the mat / may seem to dream / of nice mice that suffice / for him, or cream;
but he free, maybe, / walks in thought / unbowed, proud, where loud / roared and fought
his kin, lean and slim, / or deep in den / in the East feasted on beasts / or tender Men.
The giant lion with iron / claw in paw / and huge ruthless tooth / in gory jaw;
the pard dark-starred / fleet upon feet, / that oft soft from aloft / leaps on his meat
where woods loom in gloom – / far now they be, / fierce and free, / and tamed is he;
but fat cat on the mat / kept as a pet,
he does not forget
That fat cat on the mat has it made and he knows it.
Do you know the Thomas Hardy poem ‘ Last Words To a Dumb Friend ‘ ? If not you can find it here : http://www.readbookonline.net/readOnLine/2980/
There’s a poem “Song for my pet cat, Suki”. Can’t recall who wrote it or find an online reference, but it’s one of those little five verse things about a cats last trip to the vet. It begins;
‘I put my love in a cage of steel’
‘Stronger than *******, but less free’
‘I put my love in a steel cage,’
‘Whose bars were loves security’
Excuse the missing word, but I gave that particular volume of short poetry away when we moved to Canada. Anyone else know of it?