Like Goodfellas, But With a Cat (Goodfelines?*)
September 16th
It was a dark and stormy night.
Actually, it was a beautiful sunny Monday afternoon when my brother, my sister, and myself dug a grave.
But, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Twice a month my sister (Diane) and myself volunteer at a thrift shop that raises money for a special needs school her son, Sam, once attended. My sister has done this for years, I started after I retired.
The second Monday of September, at the shop, she told me that her cat, Ralphie, had died. She said a few nights ago, she heard this guttural noise through the house, but couldn’t find the source.
Ralphie was no where to be found.
After a time, she did find him curled on the bathroom floor. She sat with him, petting him for a while, and eventually he died later that night right there on that floor.
Unfortunately, my sister learned a lesson the hard way when, the next morning, she brought a towel down to wrap up Ralphie.
With towel in hand, she expected to pick up the weight of the cat she had for years. Instead, she found a much heavier, and stiff, animal with legs pointed out in front and behind, as if Ralphie wanted to just up and fly away.
In cats, rigor mortise sets in anywhere between ten minutes and three hours after death.
Also at the Thrift Shop, she told me she had a hard time digging a hole on her property to lay Ralphie to rest. Too many rocks, too many roots to cut through, she said.
No problem.
Called our brother (Joe), the three of us met for lunch, then headed to my sister’s house, and Ralphie’s final resting place.
At her house, my sister retrieved two shovels and a garden tool I was unfamiliar with from her shed, and handed them to us.
We walked the grounds a bit until we found a nice spot for Ralphie by some rocks, and plenty of sun.
We started to dig, and quickly learned my sister was right.
A few shovel strokes down, we hit rock.
Fortunately, it was a collection of rocks, and not a boulder. My brother and I continued, digging out one rock at a time, and tossed them aside.
It was slow and steady.
How slow?
My brother and I are old, and I can’t remember the last time I mowed a lawn let alone dig a hole for a dead family member (although, there was that one time...but I digress).
As we continued to dig Ralphie’s new home, flashes of Goodfellas crossed my mind. Specifically, the scene when Henry, Tommy, and Jimmy had to go back and dig up Billy Batts.
As far as I knew, Ralphie did not have a criminal past. Although, he never allowed himself to be photographed in family pictures, and always skulked around the upstairs balcony, just out of sight.
Finally, passed all the rocks, and solid ground, we dug deep and wide enough to bring out Ralphie.
My sister left, then reappeared with Ralphie, wrapped in a towel, inside a plastic bag (an enigma wrapped in a riddle).
As my brother unwrapped the plastic, I turned my back, did not want to see the stiff dead flying cat. My brother kept Ralphie in the towel to ensure that other animals did not dig him up (plus, who the hell was ever going to use that towel again?)
Placed Ralphie in the ground, returned the displaced dirt, rocks, and grass, and said our goodbyes.
To further ensure that Ralphie would not be disturbed, my sister found a piece of slate that my brother and I carried and placed over the grave.
As we walked to our cars to leave, a funny thought struck me.
You see, this beautiful sunny Monday afternoon was also our mother’s birthday.
Couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of our Mom looking down from heaven and saying, “It’s so nice the kids got together on my birthday,” then added, “even if it was to bury a dead cat.”
I also picture my mom now has a new pet cat in heaven.
Happy Birthday, Mom.
After I left, my sister inscribed the slate and sent me this picture.
Rest in Peace, Ralphie
* The title ‘Goodfelines’ was provided by my brother who is not known for his Algonquin Round Table sense of humor, but in this case, he was dead on (see what I did there?)
