Resting Places

          Whichever Muse inspires poetry must have latched on like a mosquito lately, with the same level of commitment, and annoyance. I thought this might happen when we go to Grand Junction next week because travel seems to give me verbal diarrhea, but we haven't even left yet. Keep reading my blog though, there's good stuff in here somewhere.

Resting Places

Our yard is full of resting places—

Old Annie cat, our first pet,

is buried on the north end of the house

simply because it was the only ground

soft enough to dig in January.

Nineteen and a half,

not bad for a cat.

Long lived Annie.

Wally, our first dog, was old

when we bought this house,

too old to even explore

much of the property.

He is buried near the shop

much too close, we later realized,

to the drain field for the septic.

Our beloved cat Cisco,

always having an adventure,

if only in his own mind,

rests beneath his favorite bush

in the backyard. If his death was unexpected,

anesthesia gone wrong,

his burial, at least, was fitting.

Garth, our faithful Lab,

rests near the fence.

Wiser this time, we buried him

where we knew there were no utilities.

Fifteen years is a long life

for a Lab mix,

but it was not long enough.

And now our much loved

main cat, Maynard, rests

beneath the apple tree

in the front yard, his launching place

for many adventures and hunts.

The grass over his grave is recovering

and our hearts will--in time.

For their bodies

our minds,

and our memories—

resting places.

________________

(Sola, our emergency back up cat,
had the misfortune of dying
while we were out of town.
We had her cremated
and do not have her ashes,
so she has no resting place
only this honorary mention.)