Lost chickens, Crucified Bears and other sacrifices

Published April 15, 2018 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

It has been a grim week, the kind of week that would make a more disciplined writer churn out a great novel, or at least some heart-wrenching ode to the world, but it’s all I can do to pretend I give a teeny-tiny rat’s behind about anything but the inside of my eyelids.

Late Wednesday night, this plane of existence lost Samantha, a sometimes sweet, sometimes haughty calico cat. She who always preferred me to anyone else. She had been feeling less than fresh for a while, but I was hoping for a few more days at least. I woke up and she was lying next to the bed and I reached down to pet her and then I saw her sweet little face. I think she had been gone for a while, but I still went to get TallBoy, my Amanda Friend’s oldest son who is renting a room here. I told him I thought Samantha was dead and I gave him a clean pillowcase for her just in case she was. Then we found a box and he took care of her so I wouldn’t have to.

My Sammie Cat is gone.  Obviously, I took Thursday off from school so I could wallow in my sadness.

Since grades are due for progress reports tomorrow, I went to school on Friday, knowing that no one understands loss of a pet like a child. I knew that the something would turn me around a bit, emotion wise.

I didn’t have to wait long.  My school celebrates Mass every Friday morning and every week I try to be a good example by singing, to encourage my students to do so, as well. My Joyful Noise is usually compromised by our Music Teacher picking the world’s most obscure Catholic hymns, so, of course, I didn’t know the opening hymn. There was a glaring grammatical error. The phrase was the Crucified Bears. It should have been Crucified, bears, but no.   Capitalizing both words it is implied that somewhere in Catholic Dogma there are actual, bears who are Holy Martyrs.

As the day progressed my students did a great job of supporting me and explained that my Samantha was now being looked after by Saint Francis, who loved all the animals. And that Sammie was probably frolicking with Jaime’s cousin’s chickens, who were lost, presumably, to marauders.

The Samantha I know would not have time for such nonsense and she would let you know by barfing up a hairball.

Love your animals.

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