An Interesting Saturday

That’s what we did last Saturday—something interesting. For something to be interesting, it doesn’t have to be a happy experience. I think things that one does rarely, or goes through for the first time—like the death of a friend, or jury duty, or a trip to South Africa—can be interesting because they are new.

The husband and I sadly, recently lost one of our favorite cats, the last cat, the oldest cat. It was not unexpected, but it wasn’t easy, either. Now, this is not interesting, it’s terrible, and I’ve been here before, many times. However, after a period of mourning and missing that is not quite over, I opened AdoptaPet online and started placing adorable kitties into my favorites list.

I did this, and then lay the list aside for a few more weeks, until the husband dropped enough hints and I got back to it. It was that day the first cat I saw in the newest listing was Bob, and I fell in love. Bob is a shorthair gray with green eyes. He’s a kitten of about four and a half months, and is FIV—Feline Immunogenicity Virus—positive. Thus he is labeled “special needs”. The description included the possibility of adopting one of his siblings. There were five of them, rescued when their mom approached a sympathetic neighbor.

This interested me. It would be perfect in so many ways, to bring home one of Bob’s siblings too, as CRAN—Cat Rescue and Adoption Network—averred that all the kittens in the clutch loved to play together.

The husband and I, after several texts with the adoption manager, made an appointment to drive down to Eugene, just under an hour away, for a meet and greet on Saturday. We would be in Eugene that day anyway, to attend a funeral.

I haven’t been to memorials—most recently our beloved veterinarian—very often, and I have been to one burial, of the husband’s cousin’s husband who was a really sweet guy. But this was new.

This was the funeral gathering of a close friend, David. Myocardial infarction. Staffers at his job—maintenance for a 109 year-old church—began to wonder where he had got to. His wife Kit, also a very close friend, found him in the basement and it appeared he had died instantly. He was 72.

At my time of life that seems young. If nothing else it was unexpected. Roger, David’s brother and another close friend, called us to give the news.

We’ve known this couple for many years; they were the ones who “got us together”, through hints and introductions and Kit’s match-making skills. Not to go into boring details about friendship and shared experiences, I was Kit’s friend and through her met David. The husband was Roger’s friend and through him met David and Kit. In the stars, eh?

The stars were working last Saturday. As the husband and I approached the very same church where David had worked the last two decades, we saw Roger, and his ex-wife Rosemary, standing together below the steps. It was a remarkable relief to me to see them, as I knew that Kit and David’s numerous friends, fans and family would make it so I would’t be able to Kit easily.

Seeing Roger and Rosemary filled us with comfort. We entered the church together. Roger was drawn off to a special family-gathering room, and the husband, Rosemary, and Joe—her current husband—sat together.

The service was just what I thought it would be—bohemian, loving, musical, and long. Kit, gracious and funny and her generous self, gave her husband the sendoff he would have loved. Did love, I think.

Later, Rosemary sent me an email. We both expressed how happy we were to have run into one another right in front of the church, with no one but us around. Rosemary, not a religious person, said she thought David had arranged our meeting, especially to comfort his poor brother. I agreed and wondered why that had to be pointed out to me. How did I not know?

Before the gathering, we spent thirty minutes playing kittens. After the gathering we walked and chatted with favorite friends. In each, we felt comforted.



About Jill Zeller

Author of numerous novels and short stories, Jill Zeller is a Left Coast writer, 2nd generation Californian, retired registered nurse, and obsessed gardener. She lives in Oregon with her patient husband, 2 silly English mastiffs and 2 rescue cats—the silliest of all. Her works explore the boundaries of reality. Some may call it fantasy, but there are rarely swords and never elves. More to the point, she prefers to write as if myth, imagination and hallucination are as real as the chair she is sitting on as she writes this. Jill Zeller also writes under the pseudonym Hunter Morrison


An Interesting Saturday — 2 Comments

  1. My very interesting tuxedo cat’s name is Eugene. He was named by the sister of the woman who rescued him and his brother. The sister adopted his brother, a shorthaired grey, green-eyed sweetheart. She named him Bob.

    The world is full of interesting reverberations.