A CAT NAMED SUE
The first pet that I remember was a kitten that I named after my grandmother, Susan.....i.e. a cat named Sue.
At the time my parents ran the Corbin Café, a small but much needed business in our little town, especially at harvest time when hired hands would descend on us for their mid-day meal before returning to their waiting combines and trucks in the wheat fields.
One late Saturday afternoon, after the café had closed, my parents and I got into the car for our weekly trip to Caldwell so my mom could shop, my dad could play pool and I could tag along. (I don't think they let me go to the movies unattended at that early age.)
As we backed the car out into the street (we had no garage, just a small driveway by the house) the car gave a sudden lurch and my dad audibly gasped. I had no idea what had happened but I knew something was wrong. Dad quickly got out of the car and went around to the rear end. I saw him lean down, then stand, holding my kitten in his hands. He had inadvertently run over Sue. And there was nothing but pain on his face.
My mother and I scurried out of the car and went to him and quite soon we were all crying.
The trip to Caldwell was abandoned but my dear parents turned my tragedy into a life lesson about letting go and mourning loss. Dad went into the house/café and returned with an empty shoe box and said something to my mom that I couldn't hear and then he disappeared.
My mother took me into the bedroom and pulled one of her brightly colored scarfs from a dresser drawer. We returned to the shoebox that was sitting on the kitchen table. She lifted the lifeless Sue and wrapped her in the scarf, her little face still visible. Then, carrying the box and taking my hand, she led me into the backyard where my father had dug a small shallow grave next to the hen house.
Mom placed the shoebox in the ground and said "We are going to send Sue to heaven." As my Dad shoveled the small mound of dirt over the box, Mom led me to her near-by garden and picked some flowers. "These are 'Bread and Butter' so Sue won't be hungry on her journey."
We returned to the graveside and laid the flowers on the tiny mound.
I guess I was at peace, knowing Sue would be in heaven with a full tummy. And we all went inside and sat in front of the radio and listened to "The Lucky Strike Show Starring Jack Benny," until I fell asleep .............and dreamed of Sue wearing her angel wings with my mother's scarf flowing in the breeze they created.
The next morning fresh flowers were on the grave when I went out to see it. And a hand-written cardboard headstone....."Sue. A small joy for a small boy."
At the time my parents ran the Corbin Café, a small but much needed business in our little town, especially at harvest time when hired hands would descend on us for their mid-day meal before returning to their waiting combines and trucks in the wheat fields.
One late Saturday afternoon, after the café had closed, my parents and I got into the car for our weekly trip to Caldwell so my mom could shop, my dad could play pool and I could tag along. (I don't think they let me go to the movies unattended at that early age.)
As we backed the car out into the street (we had no garage, just a small driveway by the house) the car gave a sudden lurch and my dad audibly gasped. I had no idea what had happened but I knew something was wrong. Dad quickly got out of the car and went around to the rear end. I saw him lean down, then stand, holding my kitten in his hands. He had inadvertently run over Sue. And there was nothing but pain on his face.
My mother and I scurried out of the car and went to him and quite soon we were all crying.
The trip to Caldwell was abandoned but my dear parents turned my tragedy into a life lesson about letting go and mourning loss. Dad went into the house/café and returned with an empty shoe box and said something to my mom that I couldn't hear and then he disappeared.
My mother took me into the bedroom and pulled one of her brightly colored scarfs from a dresser drawer. We returned to the shoebox that was sitting on the kitchen table. She lifted the lifeless Sue and wrapped her in the scarf, her little face still visible. Then, carrying the box and taking my hand, she led me into the backyard where my father had dug a small shallow grave next to the hen house.
Mom placed the shoebox in the ground and said "We are going to send Sue to heaven." As my Dad shoveled the small mound of dirt over the box, Mom led me to her near-by garden and picked some flowers. "These are 'Bread and Butter' so Sue won't be hungry on her journey."
We returned to the graveside and laid the flowers on the tiny mound.
I guess I was at peace, knowing Sue would be in heaven with a full tummy. And we all went inside and sat in front of the radio and listened to "The Lucky Strike Show Starring Jack Benny," until I fell asleep .............and dreamed of Sue wearing her angel wings with my mother's scarf flowing in the breeze they created.
The next morning fresh flowers were on the grave when I went out to see it. And a hand-written cardboard headstone....."Sue. A small joy for a small boy."
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