Our 15-year-old furgirl, Kwai Chang, passed away early yesterday morning. It's too early and raw for me to talk about her... But I will eventually return to this lovely website. Instead I'd like to tell about another beloved furbaby, one I never met, but whose passing touched me profoundly.
My husband and I work as wastewater technicians in the field. One day, about 15 years ago, we were following a sewer trunk-line along the wooded river bank, when we came upon a secluded homeless camp. We've seen many of these campsites, cluttered with rags, old bedding, strewn fast food wrappers, syringes, empty bottles of alcohol. This one was no different -- except for one thing: A lttle distance in a little circle of carefully placed rocks, clear of the squalor of the camp, was a little grave. It had been lovingly covered with stones; a little wooden cross had been fashioned for a headstone. Artificial flowers were wound around the cross, and hanging from it a hand-painted plaque depicting only the green eyes of a cat. It was clear that the little gravesite was kept faithfully tended by someone who dearly loved and missed his precious fur person. We stood in silence for a long time, gazing at that tribute to a special friend, whose passing must have broken someone's heart. We had just lost our beloved tortie, Shi'khasta and were grieving for her.
Shortly after that day, Kwai Chang came into our lives. We have never forgotten that little grave in the woods, the resting place of the littlest hobo.