Oggi il 22 febbraio mmvii alle 15:45 morì Asia, diciannovenne.
° This morning I said rosary for her, but when I brought in the cat carrier, she dragged herself away from it. So I cancelled the appointment.
° At 14:30 she moved a few feet, and began to cry. So that was that. By then she didn't object to the trip to town.
° Back home at 16:30 I lit candles before la Guadalupe, and bathed Asia, as Muslim women would not be too good to do. I thought it would be creepy. But no, it just seemed respectful and loving.
° The grave--deep and round, for Asia was a creature in perfect balance--I had dug 10 days ago. I filled the bottom with pine straw, as being softer than wheat straw. I placed Asia, enclosed in a damask shroud (in a colour called 'Asia,' I use it for bookbinding), facing East, as she used to bask in the South window. Water and food dishes, a can of tuna. Fragrant winter honeysuckle, cheerful winter jasmine, a twig of heavily berried chinese holly, a bouquet of daffodils. More pine straw, interment.
° The Sun was almost set before I finished reading the Missa pro defunctis in die depositionis and chanting Dies Irae (though the bits about sin were inapplicable).
° I had not made a complete spectacle of myself in the veterinary. I was composed as could be during the burial.
° But when I reentered the house and realised that she wasn't there . . . .
° And then later, as I was removing soiled rugs and blankets and bedspreads--there under two thicknesses of carpet remnant was a large pool of dried cream. The one big meal I'd gotten into her by means of the medicine dropper, she'd thrown up and it had soaked clear through.
° So the futility finished me off.
° Why did my neighbour name her Asia? Because she had on one side the map of Arabia, India, and Indochina in jet black on snow white.
° I don't remember how to wake up without Asia perching on my chest and sucking my breath till I rouse.
° Giac.
