The Seal of the Cats

 

May 20, 2023

Performed last night at St. James Episcopal on James Island. Across the street is Something Anglican (maybe St James) a monument to the horrible split in the Southern churches over the question of gay rights. I think their inviting us was to some degree a gesture across the street. We did not do superbly, but well enough to justify coming here. D F, our founding director, is now music director there. He must have toned down many levels. He kept talking about how old and near-the-end he was, being 62. 

A is dead at 59. S reports it was a suicide.

Lovely day already, and it’s just past noon. First full visitation from Housekeeping, which gladdens my soul. 

Watched life on the pier, many insufficient fish being caught. Every identifiably heterosexual couple was mixed-race, the ten-colored gods be praised. On the pier, fifty feet from any body, in a stiff wind, I could smell coconut sun-tan oil. 

R sent me photos of visiting Maud’s grave, which I had described to him, and of A spreading daisy flowers over it. I was sitting on the hotel terrace bar, amid a hundred youngsters drinking and reveling, and I burst into sobs. No one looked at me, so I dwelt in perfect solitude until I worked it out of my system. I might feel foolish mourning my cat for so long, but I don’t. The grief feels clean, like a flash of light on the sea waves. And, it’s not just for Maud. She was the Seal of the Cats, after whom there will be no other. I look through the memory of her to the memory of six cats who gave me comfort and mirth through the middle of my life, when it was needed. Jocasta the hidden. Theseus, my sweet boy. Titus the burly. Conrad the secret sharer. Circe the gentle hearted. Maud the mysterious. Homage. Honor. Thankfulness.