I'm not sure where this puts me in the ranks of cranks, spinsters, and heirs to Grey Gardens, but today the memorial stone for my cat Whimsey that died last September arrived, nearly six months to the day. It was odd and comforting at the same time to hold the stone that weighed about the same as he did and place it in the garden where his ashes rest and he loved to sun and play.
Even if one were not to get sentimental about the cat himself, it was the fact that he marked a significant chunk of my life, more than a third of it. It has been pleasant today to watch the sun play off the imperfections and subtle highlights of the stone. And, were I ever to move from here, I can take it with me.