Magnum opus

  Persephone,

  It's been a week since you left me to the underworld. I still remember it vividly: my stepfather driving us to the vet's clinic, me in the back singing you Whiskey in the Jar and stroking you, making sure every once in a while you aren't dead... I was very relieved when we got there and you seemed far from it.

  The vet did a brief check-up, and quickly understood you most likely ate a mouse which ate mouse poison. 'I hate it when people use this kind of poison,' she said. You could barely walk, and only cry when she triggered some pain on your tail and paws to see if you respond. It was dreadful to watch; usually someone who'd annoy you like that wouldn't have their face intact for long. But then... You could hardly walk... You made a single step and collapsed... And that was my last memory of you. Oh Kot, you should've seen my mother who realised how awful your condition was; 'No, that's it! I don't want a cat!' she cried, futilely attempting to fight the tears.

  Your condition continued to worsen. My stepfather told my brother and myself that the vet rang and he didn't have much good news to tell him. My little brother wanted to see you, but my stepfather refused, saying she's connected to infusions and other machines, and it would be shocking to see her like that. We already started speakign of your virtues in the past tense, but I still remained hopeful. Eventually I went to my room to practice for a math test, but instead of practicing I just kept saying the Lord's Prayer again and again (an atheist ideal looked idiotic compared to the thought of you about to die), and eventually resigned to a half-concentrated vector practice. Till my stepfather came in and said, 'She's dead.'

  I didn't cry. Oh no. I haven't cried for the entire week. My little brother collapsed and couldn't stop crying and screaming, my mother cried rivers, and I trembled. I saw the world around me collapsing. I went into a miniature panic attack (I assume that what it was). Kot, I've never dealt with grief before. I mean, the only people I knew who died were people I didn't know that well: a relative in the south, another in the U.S., the guard in the school by my house... I called you 'my solace', and now that my solace itself was gone, I was clinging on the air without oxygen―

  My mother started looking for pictures of you in her collection of photos and videos she'd made (she's an excellent photographer). Fortunately, I wrote about the day we got you in my diary (which I've been neglecting for a long time now...), so we knew where to look for you (the files are arranged according to dates). We found videos of you as a tiny, skinny little kitten, playing with a little toy mouse. My brother was playing with you, and you looked very happy. I was very disturbed by the fact there wasn't a single picture of me with you there, and had a very hard time trying to grasp the idea that just going to make some is impossible, because you're dead, you're no more, you're gone... And everything else just can't compare to that. M. N. was a complete nobody. How can he compare to someone as noble, sweet, beautiful, virtuous, and intelligent as you? You were more intelligent than a few people I know... put together! (Fortunately, I recalled I took pictures with you on Purim 2007, with me dressed as Bashou, remember? Unfortunately, these pictures were deleted, and had only a blurry icon as a shard of a memory I have to cherish.)

  Khavatselet gave me a ring. She got the text message I'd sent quite a few of my friends, and was the only one who rang me (instead of expressing their compassion through a text message). I spoke to her for about twenty minutes or so. I told her how much I loved her, how helpless I felt, I told her about everything, and yet I felt like there's always more to say. I told her never to try kill herself or something, because I shall see it as a foul treachery. She promised me she won't, and before I hung up I asked her, 'Do you ever feel like you're in a book?' She said she does, and I told her I can often spot the literal methods some sort of 'grand writer' is using in my life. I thought about it and wondered what your death was supposed to symbolise, thinking mostly about The Lover.

  School was a challenge. Concentrating was hard. I met a very bonnie lassie whom I shall codename 'Noelle', a girl who took a book of Emily Dickenson's poems, and she's just an eighth grader. I really liked her, and I thought I might teach her English (because she's the kind of lass who would be interested in what I mostly emphasise, and that is the whole cultural background of the language). Not only it didn't work, but when I came looking for her, half of her classmates started singing a Jewish wedding song at us. Eventually, I barked at them 'SHUT UP!' so loud and suddenly they were startled and shut up (at least partially). I told them, 'Look. Usually, I tolerate your idiocity. I think, "It's not their fault that they're idiots, there's nothing they can do..." But now my cat is dead, so I have very little patience and tolerance for your nonsense.' They kept on singing at us when we came back from the library, even though I'd told them already from the start that I'm just her future-to-be English Teacher. Oh Kot, do you remember how I wouldn't let you into the house (mum wasn't happy about you going and tearing things, walking on the dishes...), and I told you it's so 'you won't catch the humans' impurity'?

  I had other misfortunes later on. I was about to break something. Oh Kot, had it not been for Obama's inauguration, Kot knows waht would've happened―

  I went through a week of mourning. Yes, I know, very Jewish of me, but that's a harmless Jewish rite (unlike almost any other rite). I could hardly eat, but when I did, I couldn't stop. Sleeping was hard. I wouldn't allow myself to laugh whole-heartedly when I watched Erets Nehederet. It was... painful. But it was worth it. For me, this was a repentance for any sign of neglection or any wrong-doing I've ever done to you. People were impressed with the week-long mourning and what it included, but that was of little importance.

  I loved you so much, Persephone. I can't believe you aren't waiting by the door for me to feed you anymore. No-one I can stroke and share all my troubles with... I wished for a cat for so long, I was so happy to have you. I can't believe I'd initially thought you're not the kind of majestic cat I wanted. Mum couldn't believe she hadn't wanted you and had threatened to send you away. I miss chasing you down to the basment and finding you miaowing innocently. Oh, how I miss your gentle voice! No cat can match that. I miss you so, I miss you so, I miss you so, I miss you so I miss you so I miss you so―

  And now you're buried in the corner of our backyard, with only two hibiscuses marking your grave, buried in a fancy shoebox with a stain from my little brother's tear and your favourite toy ball.

  Forgive me, my love, the sweetest thing ever born after Khavatselet (I hope you aren't offended by this nickname...). I went to the pet-shop to find a Russian blue only because that's the only type of cat that I know that can match your great virtues. It is a rare cat, and very hard to find in Israel. That is why I started looking for one now; once I can find one, it would've been long enough to have dignified your death properly. I'm very sorry, but I'm going insane without stroking a cat's fur. There's Ao, the cat that lives up the road, who seems to like me, but her fur isn't as soft as yours, her voice if oddly squeaky, and I can't pick her up and hug her. Oh Kot, I'm losing it―

  Yours,

  The funny hoomin.