Death and jacaranda blossoms
Monday, December 22, 2014 at 05:55PM The week of the Martin Place siege in Sydney, the day the news broke about the horrific family slaughter in Cairns, I found a dead cat under our house.
The first I knew of it was a handsome bushy black tail, sticking straight out from under our external weatherboard wall onto the concrete of our driveway. We get a number of cats around our place, resident Jack Russell notwithstanding, but I didn’t recognise this one.
As I got closer, I noticed that the fur was dusty – not a state any self-respecting moggie would tolerate. I gently touched the end of the tail, no response.
My heart sank. Husband was raking leaves on the drive and I called him over. Both of us noticed, now, the beginnings of the sweet stench of corruption. It smelt like it had been dead a while.
‘You’re going to have to dispose of it,’ said husband to me, and I looked at him helplessly. ‘Go on, do you good.’
‘You’re right,’ I said, girding my loins, ‘it will do me good. I need to do this. I was brought up in India, I used to be a nurse for goodness sake.’ It’s true. I saw plenty of death as a kid, lepers on the street, publically festering sores; I have laid out many dead humans, why was one dead cat, who I didn’t even know personally, discombobulating me so, with so much upset and revulsion?
I gloved up, got some garbags from the kitchen drawer and returned grim-lipped and determined. I put out my hand to pull gently on the tail and… Oh, I just couldn’t do it. Pathetically I kept reaching out, then pulling back with a cry, almost a retch. ‘I can’t do this!’ I kept saying, followed by, ‘Don’t do this for me. I have to do this myself.’ I tried to channel our oldest daughter, a down to earth country girl, closed my eyes, gritted my teeth and gently tugged.
It looked so alive, that was the thing. It was soft and warmish and the heft of it made it feel so animate. I kept expecting it to turn, snarling, and nip me on the wrist. It was lying, head quietly on paws, every bit as though it was basking lazily in the sun. The flimsy plastic bags snagged and ripped on its back claws – I sent my assistant off for reinforcements. The sheer heaviness of the body broke my heart; I imagined some child, barely bigger than the cat itself, carrying the long-suffering, floppy family pet around the house.
It took about ten minutes to accomplish my grim deed. Three layers of bags (memories, once again, of my long-ago nursing days, double bagging all the infectious bed linen and wound dressings so meticulously) securely tied off and the cadaver was safely disposed of.
I thought, as I do every time I watch the news, of police and ambos doing their grisly work. Of how it would feel to be the first ones on the scene of road carnage, of brutal human violence. I used to ponder this as a trainee nurse – we saw so much suffering but we were never at the coal face. Patients came to us tidied up, by hardier souls than us.
One anonymous dead cat distressed me deeply, at some kind of visceral level. How do people the world around deal with witnessed suffering that is in another stratosphere?
Still, and all, it’s Christmas, a time I dearly love, not least because jacaranda and agapanthus flower in profusion in an identical shade of purply blue. My oldest brother-in-law, who has been part of my life since I was 14, is seriously ill. And yet, I get to be with him and with every member of my extended family on the Australian mainland. I get to go to worship and hear again the story of a God who became a person with more than his fair share of suffering in a short life. I get to hear this story with sublime music thrown in. And candles. I get to welcome a new member into our household. I get to swim in the ocean. I get to rest before the busyness of the new working year begins.
It’s the end of my fourth year of almost weekly blogging. Thank you to all who have read what I’ve written and encouraged me to continue. Remember to notice, despite everything, the love and beauty that abounds. Blessings on you for Christmas and the summer.
Reader Comments (3)
Hi Clare,
Sympathy for the cat situation. On another note, the Jacarandas have been especially beautiful this year. Faye and I found ourselves on a cruise from Perth to Melbourne , and in both Perth and Adelaide the Jacarandas were especially beautiful, and once home we noticed them all over again. A lift of the spirit every time I see one. Keep up the blogging; it's good to hear how you are getting on.
Cheers! Bruce
Well done Clare. I am equally squeamish when it comes to dealing with dead creatures found in the back garden. I tend to call on my husband who does the business for me.. All good things for 2015 and enjoy the Christmas season. Sarah
Beautifully written as ever and so everyday life that you can't help but sit and imagine it all happening in my place. Christmas and New Year blessings to you and that man of yours!