Cats in the Gap (A Memorial Essay)...
It’s 93 degrees and the sun is relentless. It’s hard to dig in the dry Colorado dirt, but I’ve done this before. I know I’ll need the rubber mallet and a tent stake to pry out the rocks. I’ll need the square shovel to shave down the sides, making room for the box, and the big shovel to carry out the loosened dirt. The sharp shovel cuts through the tree roots, and I feel every blow and break. The roots, sheathed in red, scream a painful mess of color into the soil. I don’t know which tree I’ve severed, lilac, elm or fir, but I know how it feels. We called Snowball the Last Cat Standing. He lived the longest of the three and a full year from the time of the first cat’s...
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