The Final Examination
The rusty shovel slices through damp layers of earth. It’s been a long time since she’s bent her back to thankless labor, but this burden is hers alone to bear. And the weight of this cross presses deeper into her thin shoulders with every grain of dirt hefted and tossed aside. Sweating, she stops for a moment to push the hair from her eyes and size up the small hole. Her chin trembles.
“A little bigger,” she mumbles and returns to her task.
We’ve known each other for a season. Morning and evening, breakfast and dinner, hello and goodnight. So when I came to her door last night, she knew me well — well enough to know something was wrong. She tried to comfort me with gentle words and helping hands. To no avail. But her good intentions were not lost on me.
This morning she awoke early, her lips pinched in a tight line. She was troubled by what she might find, but I had waited out the night. Kneeling, her shoulders clenched, she touched me. A breath — my last — and she stared into my marble eyes, clear and lifeless.
Or so she thought.
I’m watching her now as she places my tiny, shrouded body in the makeshift grave. She’s alone, no man or child, and her cheeks are damp with prayerful tears.
“May Death be kinder to you than Life.”
I swish my tail and bid her goodbye. For now. Unbeknownst to her, a lump grows quietly in her breast. She mourns for me even as her body prepares for its own departure.
But we will meet again in a few months time because she has passed the Final Examination. I’m glad. I care about her too after all.
*inspired by October, a stray cat, who “adopted” me shortly before his death this Spring.
