How often do you remember your dreams? For me, it’s basically every night. Last night’s dream took place in the parking lot of my childhood synagogue. I guess I was subconsciously craving cold kosher pizza and that shitty hard candy they throw at you when you finish your Torah portion. I had a dream that I was holding my dead cat in the parking lot. Well she wasn’t dead in the dream, but she’s dead now. In the dream I picked her up and held her and she was soft and quiet. Ok maybe she was dead in the dream.
Jade died as she lived- very dramatically. She spent 17 years sleeping and hissing at squirrels and then she had a stroke and that was it. I don’t usually think about how I’m going to die, except for every single minute I’m on an airplane. I’ve read every safety manual on every flight I’ve been on, and I watched Lost as training, not for fun.
In January of my senior year of college, I was waiting to board a flight at SFO airport. I was visiting Oakland with my friend to eat tacos and go on half-assed hikes. My sister called me and asked me to sit down, and I did. She told me the news. Why do people always ask you to sit down before giving devastating news? Are we always worried about passing out? I didn’t pass out, I just started to cry. I guess crying while seated is more acceptable than crying while standing. The last time I cried standing up was on Houston street in January, at 3pm after I was fired from my tech sales job. As it turns out, you have to make a certain amount of sales to be a salesperson.
Jade died as she lived- the center of attention. She liked to eat rubber bands and bathing suit ties and then throw them up in the middle of the family room. She preferred to vomit on carpet rather than hard wood because all women deserve to puke where it is most comfortable. She would go on hunger strikes from time to time and then drink the juice from a can of tuna and throw that up as well. When she wasn’t vomiting, though, she was the best little lady a home could have. She greeted us at the door when we came in, she liked to sleep by the fire, and she only scratched when provoked. If she ever ran away, she always came back by the end of the day. She would not have lasted any longer in the wild, as she was unable to take care of herself.
Losing a pet is sad because in that moment, a part of our childhood goes as well. The thing that remained constant through multiple schools, many crushes, and three US Presidents. The animal that sat on my lap for 3 days when I was home with Swine Flu watching all of Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making The Team. When Jade died, I felt like I grew up. For the first time in 17 years I came home to a hairless house. I closed the front door behind me quickly out of habit.
We cremated Jade and buried the box in the backyard. In the hole in the ground we put a can of tuna, a rubber band, and a bathing suit string. Like King Tut, buried among her riches. When I die, I want to be buried with an everything bagel w scallion cream cheese, Britney Spears’ My Prerogative CD, and a good memoir. Just in case.
Great read, Rach❤️