May/June 2008

When the wind mows on a funeral, it cries with the heartbroken. It mourns with the tearful. It drops bright leaf handkerchiefs from its shaking fingers. When the wind watches as a coffin is lowered into the ground, it bows its gray head in sorrow. And even as the last regretful people get into their cars to leave, the wind stays a moment longer, fingering the fresh grave, before whipping away to think of what it has witnessed. But when the wind blew on Moon’s funeral, it didn’t cry. It didn’t mourn. It didn’t even need a handkerchief. The coffin it should have watched was too small for its tastes, the mourners too few for it to even deem this a proper funeral. After all, it was spring, and the wind was no more than a lazy-boy breeze, blowing loose things around like a bored child kicking at tin cans. The wind didn’t care about Moon. But I did. *           *          * Moon had her start as a small white kitten in a pathetic little “Free to Good Home” basket at a yard sale. Mom and Daly were digging through piles of stained clothing and broken toys as I wandered around, bored out of my wits. Yard sales were ridiculous to me, like saying, “Here, take this stuff. It’s so gross I don’t want it anymore,” or “We were too fussy to sell our stuff on eBay, so we’ll sell it here at the same outrageous price.” I had just skirted a large haystack of skis and bent ski poles when I saw the basket. It was across the street, at the very foot of the driveway, too obvious that these kittens were unexpected and unwanted. “Do you want one, Jackie? Mommy says that they’ve all got to go today” I was a cat-lover born and bred, growing up in a house where it was impossible to wear anything black in public or to escape the dreaded litter-box routine. I was totally ready to bring another member into the family, as one of our three cats, Smoky, had died of old age just a few months before. So when I saw that basket, there wasn’t anything to stop me. I practically plowed over Mason, the neighbor’s seven-year-old, as he stood in front of the basket. He looked up at me with big sweet eyes and asked, “Do you want one, Jackie? Mommy says that they’ve all got to go today.” How could I resist? Carefully, I inspected each of the darling little creatures. They were all white but one, which was gray. I was drawn immediately to the gray one. He likes to stand out from the crowd, I thought in amusement. However, I could see that he was skittish and shy of people, backing away from my hand as far as he could. Mom would never let me make a project out of accustoming him to people, so I turned to the next. That was Moon. She was as friendly as her brother was nervous, and I was able to pick her up and rub my fingers through her silky kitten fur. She was the one for me. *           *          * “No, Jackie. Absolutely not.” That was Mom’s first reaction to Moon. I begged, “But Mom, Smoky’s been gone for months, and I need another cat in the house to complete our trio.” “We don’t need any more vet bills than we already have. Vaccinations cost money, and we’re still paying off Smoky’s heart medication.” She looked down at Daly and held up a hideous pink T-shirt with orange fringe that I strongly suspected had been white when the shirt was new-bought. “How’s this, Daly?” Mom asked, changing the subject. Daly hopped up and down, babbling as only a four-year-old can: “Mommy, Mommy, my shirt! My pink shirt!” Mom looked satisfied and slung the shirt over a growing pile on her left arm. “So can we, Mom?” I asked, thinking she might be in a better mood now. “Can we?” “No.” My attempts to persuade her failed miserably for several minutes, until my stroke of genius saved the day. I was dragging my feet as Mom flipped through racks of women’s clothes. Daly, likewise, was whining and sighing with boredom. Then it hit me. Slyly, I asked, “Hey, Daly, do you want to see a kitty?” She faced me, pouting. “We’ve got kitties already. I want to see toys!” “But we don’t have kitties like this.” I took her hand, careful not to pull too hard, and added, “They’re a lot smaller than Oreo and Tiger. Come on, let me show you!” She finally stopped digging in her heels and, reluctantly, followed me across the street. Her hesitance evaporated when she spotted the kittens in the basket. With a squeal that made Mason cover his ears, she pounced on the gray kitten and was about to scoop him up when I quickly tugged her hand away. “No, that one is scared, Daly. Look at this one.” I placed her small fingers on Moon’s head, and the kitten, playing her part perfectly, began to purr and rub against Daly’s hand. My sister was enchanted. “Jackie, let’s get this one,” she cried, and I didn’t stop her when she picked up this kitten. I trusted Daly with holding cats; like me, she had grown up surrounded by them— Dragon, Floss, Smoky, and our remaining cats, Oreo and Tiger. Triumphantly, I led Daly and her precious bundle back across the street, where I faced Mom with a grin. “And thus, our new kitten joins the family.” I gestured to my sister. Daly proudly held up the small white kitten. Mom really did try to rally her forces and resist, but her genes and mine were too closely linked. She was as much a cat-lover as her daughters. “All right. We’ll keep it. Boy or girl, and what’s its name?” “Girl.” I closed my eyes for a moment to think of a