Wednesday, September 15, 2004


We not only fit in processing beans and the normal chores and work, but yesterday we had a funeral.

Little Squirt, kitten about 7 weeks old, died in the night. Looked like he'd just gone to sleep. Looked like he was still just asleep for that matter, except he was stiff as a board. Most dead things, they don't look much like what they looked like before -- mostly they are flatter than you would expect.

Little Squirt was one of seven kittens born to Bobbitt, four of whom were bobtails themselves (including Squirt). But Squirt didn't grow right, never had. He was well loved, and properly mourned and buried.

Poetic daughter #2 (7) said these words over his grave:

The leaves falling
The trees crying
for our wonderful baby cat Squirt

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