Our dear cat Trouble died tonight. We found him at the bottom of the cellar steps just before dinner, lying peacefully, as if asleep. Legs and Noodle are very upset, and although Skunk and I tried to appear brave and grown-up about it, we failed. We brought Trouble home from a trip to the supermarket one day. A pair of siblings had stationed themselves by the entrance, giving away kittens. He was the last one in the box. Skunk and I argued all the way home about the wisdom of such an impulse; mine, of course. We had the pleasure of his company for 17 years. He used to sit in the kitchen and watch me bake all night, back in the days when I had insomnia. Sometimes I would read poetry aloud to him. He liked Stanley Kunitz best. He never cared much for our current dog Mia.
We shall bury him in the garden between the cherry tree and the honeysuckle, next to our previous dog Banzai, a Rhodesian Ridgeback who was his best mate.
I miss him already. Good-bye, Trubbie.
