little death boxes, or how the scaffidi sister regained her sense of humor

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Our cat is dying. She's sixteen, feisty, snuggly, and coping with a rapidly growing brain tumor. She's getting ready to go. We thought for sure she was done this past weekend, but she made a small recovery and now we're back on the "is it now?" rollercoaster. It's exhausting, and sad, but not without its funny moments.

Like watching her, now almost completely blind, stumble down the hall to sit in front of the fireplace to wait for you to make her a fire.

Like sitting awkwardly on the floor, pinned underneath all her tiny fragile bones, while she makes herself comfortable, drooling and saying goodbye in your lap.

Like not fighting her for your bowl of spaghetti / mac-n-cheese / lentil soup, because she's in your face and hungry and, hell, she deserves it.

Like picking out her urn:

jazmine's final resting box

The Sister has spent several days on this website, considering options and reading comforting things. We're all wiped out and cycling (some of us faster than others) through the stages of grief. I've been in the dark sad place for a few days, but for a brief moment today, I felt better.

The Sister and The Hebrew-in-Law are in their room, looking at kitty urns. She says to me, "We just designed your urn."

"What?!?!" I say.

"It's this one:

um, thanks

She says, "Only instead of the marbling? It's going to be BACON."

Brilliant.

But I can do better.

"Put 'em in my lunchbox," I yell.

"What?"

"My ashes! Put 'em in my lunchbox!"

my final resting box

And she says, "That's how we'll get your ashes all over the country, we'll carry you in the lunch box! Now there's your blog for the day: your lack of urn and ashes lunchBOX plan."

Please drive my remains around the country and scatter a little of me in every state, ok? And don't mind if I'm a little scatterbrained until our oldest pet decides to shake off this mortal coil.