The much-loved and pampered feline incarnation of the goddess, and sometime-demon-familiar, Micah died at around 5 pm. She passed quickly and — for her — quietly, after only a couple of days of increased discomfort. (Increased, of course, from the daily discomfort of the very old; as far as my unreliable memory can tell, she had reached the remarkable age, for a cat, of 21 years.) She was buried the next day, a sunny Saturday afternoon, in a shallow grave under a cairn of rocks, on a beautiful mossy slope that is destined to become a rock garden near my new home. I couldn't help but ponder the omen that that night was the full moon. Others have wondered about the fact that she died on "Good Friday" and have speculated that some other incarnation will have emerged, three days or so later, determined to put the dead-god-on-a-stick to shame. We'll probably never be able to be sure, since it was spring, anyway — a time when goddesses and their work abound. It has been an amazing 21 years, though it's hard to prove that much of what made it so can be directly attributed to the influence of this particular manifestation of the goddess. It is indisputable, however, that most who came into contact with her were touched by her unique magic and that many of them became devout worshippers who you could not persuade otherwise.
|
![[the Walnuts]](micahwaln.gif)
