Here, There and Everywhere

Cato patiently awaits a decision about what to do with his earthly remains.

My plan had always been to bury him next to his “brother” Clouseau, beneath the day lilies in the side flowerbed. I had a wooden “casket” picked out and the burial shroud - an old, hooded gray sweatshirt of mine. (Clouseau is in a navy blue one.)

But then, on impulse, I had Cato cremated. Ironic, in a sense: After all the time and effort we spent almost every day in his final months to hydrate him, he is now the ultimate in dehydration.

Just as I expect to be someday.

I have plans for the disposal of my own ashes which involve a final trip to my hometown for repose in a place I will not publicly reveal, lest it not be strictly legal. Let’s just say it will be a rare immersion for Joe in water.

A friend with cremation plans wants his ashes divvied up among his best mates, with instructions to disperse them in the place that each identifies most with him. If I should be one of those so entrusted, I will have to find a way to deposit him in the vicinity of what used to be a pool hall on Nolensville Road in Nashville. A private ceremonial scattering in the parking lot, perhaps, with appropriate wording like, “You beat me again, Ed.”

Cato’s ashes could still be buried beneath the flowers, with appropriate ceremony. And I was somewhere between aghast and amused when I saw some of the storage alternatives, including the Buddha cat urn above. But a little research turned up some more palatable choices, and now I‘m reconsidering.

After all, 20 years as the World’s Sweetest (and Sometimes Loudest) Cat certainly earned Cato a permanent spot around the place.