Crickett liked being a queen

By John Burroughs

Our beloved eighteen-year old cat Crickett passed away in August 2007. She's the black beauty on my lap in this picture taken in late 2004 (her Russian Blue partner is Ballou).

I wanted to write a long, interesting, and even humorous tribute to her. Maybe that will come in the future. But somehow, I don't think my emotions will allow it now.

So forgive me for just rambling a bit. Anyone who knows us knows that our pets are our family. It might sound funny to some people, but it's a fact. I am "Dad" to them, my wife is "Mom," my brother is their "Uncle Mike" and my mom is their "Grandma."

The way I talk to our pets (even try to reason with them) as though they're human beings is a source of great amusement to many who know me in person. Well, in addition to being the oldest of our pets, Crickett was the smartest and most "human." I daresay she's also been the most indispensable.

And only a week ago she seemed so spry.

Talk about a lesson in impermanence. Despite our best efforts and strongest wishes, she is gone. But then again, she's not really gone.

When it became obvious that she was going, I sat on the floor beside her and told her that no matter where she or we would eventually go, she would always dwell in our home and in our hearts. She is, and will forever be, the queen of our house.

Crickett liked being a queen. Other cats came and went and she treated them all with a royal disdain. She knew better than any of us that she was no ordinary cat. The full moon is shining through my window as I write this. Coincidence or not, it's interesting and appropriate that our extraordinary black cat waited till the evening of the full moon to leave this mortal existence.

I like to fantasize that she did so intentionally, so she could magically reincarnate into a beautiful Wiccan writer, the next Starhawk or something. Maybe we'll meet her twenty-some years from now at a bookstore - a stunningly beautiful young lady with long raven tresses and wearing a pentacle.

"Hello, my name's Crickett," she'd say from behind a stack of her books. "I'd be happy to sign that for you."

Ah, my dear Crickett. You've already left your signature with us, in places you neither see nor remember - places we can never forget.

John Burroughs is the author of http://crisisblog.crisischronicles.com/ and much more. His Web site is: www.crisischronicles.com. This was originally written by him and posted in 2007.