Merle Gibson: Rose from the Dead
When Merle died it was a sorry affair.
After hating us all her life
she wanted to be close with us in the end.
Lol, who had always seen the good in her
brought her back to life briefly on the last day,
which had shown how much he meant to her I suppose.
But cats are only meant to last a certain amount of time-
less than what should be a life time,
more than some marriages,
longer than a bout of depression,
hopefully twice the time it takes you to get over a school bully.
They outlive baby teeth,
crushes on cartoon characters,
What must it feel like for a child to lose their living teddy bear?
So when we got Robert a year later
crimped little shitehawk, claws in most of the time,
as dark as Merle but not as dark as Merle
I thought about her last day-
a fourteen year old boy and a fourteen year old cat
‘Horrible innit?’ he said,
as I kept her close just in case she rose again.
‘Yeah. Might have been easier if she hadn’t suddenly announced
she loved us afterall.’
That night there was actually a thunderstorm-
apt for a tempestuous bitch such as she-
we dug a deep hole in the garden
at the place where she would position herself
to scratch our ankles as we went past her.
Lol, with dignity and that way boys can hold devastation
under a thick surface of what the world expects,
brought her out wrapped in a blanket,
kissed her on the head
and lowered her into the ground.
OH I know there’s worst things
than a flamin cat dying,
yet there’s no more profound
an emotion than the first time
your child experiences real loss.
I know one day he will be the same
kiss me on the head
and let go.
A dog rose grows over Merle’s grave,
she would have hated that.
We still get scratched by her;
she would have loved that.
‘We’ll bury you next to Merle mum’
Lol half jokes...