Obsequies

 

On Saturday the 15th of June Obsidian Norman Harvey, beloved cat, passed from this life after some weeks of illness. In recent times Obsidian had slowed down, standing under our feet like a three-dimensional shadow. Signs had been of concern for a little while: sleeping all day in the sunniest room of the house, not eating despite variations in diet, shows of disinterest in going outdoors. The diagnoses from the vet kept getting more serious with each return visit. We spent time living between the insistence of maintaining longevity and the knowledge of the grim meaning of certain medical words. In the end, the humane choice became the necessary choice. Saturday was the day that shaped up for the inevitable. By convention we bury our pets under an appropriate flower bush selected from the nursery. In this case lavender was the instant choice, Obsidian spending any amount of charmed hours beneath lavender bushes. Italian flags, English spikes, Spanish butterflies? Bridie read out the choices on her phone from the nursery. In the end we went with traditional French lavender — sturdy, reliable, fragrant, long-lasting. The final visit to the vet was, so I was told, orderly and civilised. Sunday the 16^th of June was rainy and, as it happened, Bloomsday: Mrkgnao. I ventured out early to the annual Joycean seminar at the Arcadia Hotel in South Yarra. Carol and Bridie went to Woodend to see their hairdresser, then lunch at the patisserie. But we knew that mid-afternoon we would be back home to fulfil what we called the Obsequies. Obsie puns abounded throughout his life and this was the most poignant, and obvious. A rainy Sunday, still the rain stayed off for the ceremony: no obstructions. Ground was prepared in the flowerbed under the clothesline, a favourite place for Obsie to coil mortally and observe the passing scene. Held firmly in a pillowcase, Obsidian’s mortal remains were lowered into his resting place. Jonquils went on top, rose petals were scattered; a small felt toy Christmas tree he played with; some dries for the journey. That was the shape of things. Then we had the formal readings. Bridie read Mary Oliver’s poem ‘The First Time Percy Came Back’. Carol read the cat poem from Old Irish ‘Pangur Bán’, the version found in haste (of course) on Wikipedia, i.e. the 1912 translation by Robin Flower. Philip read his own ode to Obsie starting, “Obsidian Norman Harvey comes in through the bathroom window, projected by a silver zoom. A wooden ladder rests against the outside wall, there to assist his scaling and abseiling …” The silver zoom is the stay holding the window open. That done, Bridie and I set the lavender in place and shovelled in good garden dirt. After due space, we went inside to toast some observable memories with our favourite wines.