Post Script

by jkatejohnston

22 February 2015

Dear Max,

Yesterday Enzo and I took Duncan’s things to Happy Tails, the cat rescue where we adopted him. After dropping off his stuff, we went into a sunny glass-walled room with about seven cats, all draped about sleeping. I found one that liked to be petted, and Enzo found a couple to play with. We brought the stuffed felt mouse on a string that we’d made for Duncan for Christmas last year. The string is attached to a small stick, so when a cat grabbed the mouse and wouldn’t let go, Enzo would pull on the stick and string and say, “I caught a cat fish! It’s a whopper!”

After a while I went to the bathroom. As I walked back, I could see through the glass walls that Enzo was talking. He seemed to be addressing the room rather than talking to one cat in particular. When I came back in I asked what he’d been saying.

“I told them that when Duncan died they lost a great leader.”

This morning, checking my facts, I asked him, “What were you saying to the cats when I went to the bathroom yesterday?”

“I was telling them jokes. I don’t know if they liked them though.”

I asked him how he’s feeling about Duncan being gone. “Pretty good. I do it by not thinking about it.”

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