As the days passed, the cat composted. I assumed the gardeners would pick it up. I walked in denial of the cat’s existence. Weeks later, a glimmer of white caught my eye; all that was left were bones.
We jumped in the car to drive around the corner and I explained the event. I parked. She floated to the cat. After some encouragement the scientific study began. After a while, I said, “We need to get started on school work.”
Not many days later, an adolescent gray tabby lay in repose under the Oleanders. I heard a voice, “It is for GirlyK. If you ignore this one there will be another.”
After 3 weeks the cat was pretty well cleaned. Only toes and a bit of tail flesh were left. Sea Green eyes pleaded, “It would be SO nice to collect the whole thing and put it in my room as a decoration.”
I called Sis whine about the failed attempt. She sweetly replied, “You know, at the coroner’s they…”
The next three days I sat outside with GirlyK. Crock-pot in between my knees, I scrubbed bones with a toothbrush. She, with a cat skeleton map, cataloged bones and labeled their zip lock bags. Never was a little girl more in her bliss.