There is a time

by Rain Trueax

Quarantining, hunkering in place, self-isolation... Whatever you call it, many are trying to stay at home and away from possible contagion with Novel Covid-19, the virus that seemingly arose from nowhere and is devastating families, economics, and social interactions. Jobs that involve the public and are regarded as non-essentials are mostly shutdown for now. Some National Parks are closing for now while they figure this out. Even the Olympics will be rescheduled for a year from this summer-- first time in an odd year as far as I know. 


I wake up in the middle of the night and worry not so much about getting sick, although I am in the high risk group, but more about what this is doing to our culture, life as we have known it. If this virus can shut down the world, what's to stop another one from coming along that needs something different to stop it? Will things ever be the same?

Mostly, I fret about our way of life, about economics as despite some saying that's callous to think of money, it is the exchange of needed products for humans to survive. We do not go out and kill game or gather berries to be dried. Most of us do not live in tribes. We have gathered money, which we then trade for what someone else gathered. Is that exchange in danger?

In the midst of that, our beloved old cat had what appeared to be a stroke. We had known he was old and his time was coming. It didn't make it easier. 

Blackie had come to us as a stray 16 years ago. We don't know how old he was, but he'd been neutered and was not a kitten. I won't say more about what made him so special to us as it makes others sad to hear of a loss like that. Right now, the world has enough sadness. Just it added to our difficult week.

As he lay dying, we debated where we should bury him. He had come to the farm and loved it there. But here is where we are-- the desert. He's spent a lot of time here over the years mostly behind a fence to protect him from what is out there that would have eaten him. I knew he should not be buried behind the fence but instead out in the open, where he'd be free and no longer at risk of anything.

All of a sudden, we knew the right place and when he died last Saturday (my little brother's birthday), he was put there. Ranch Boss gathered stones from our property to put over his grave-- both as markers and to keep the wild things from digging up the grave. The denizens, who live here, will run past his grave. It looks out to Pusch Ridge, a beautiful view and then down to the little draw that is also on our land.

For a long time, I had been uncertain where I wanted my ashes put into the ground, when my time came. Then, after we buried him-- Me too, I thought, right there on this little piece of desert that we bought in 1999 and have loved for many years. Land that has seen storms and sunshine. Dust to dust and ashes to ashes. 

I loved Blackie and cried for him (even though he didn't like me that much as he was Ranch Boss's cat in all ways). He was special to me for his wonderfully unique personality, his energy (he was alpha cat to the end), and for all my memories with him in them.

We have three other cats. Before we buried him, we let them have time with his body. It's important for animals to get their chance to grieve. They do, you know.

It had been a while since I could cry. His death opened the valves. I think that's a good thing. Tears are important sometimes as an outlet of grief. This is a time for mourning, and there will soon come a time for joy. It is the way of life.