O.k so those of you that know me well will already be aware that the presence of ghosts in my life are about as likely as pixies and fairies but the other day Walter our very much loved cat of ten years made an ethereal return from the dead...
So yes the passing of Walt was a very sad moment in both Alex's and my life but to be honest it wasn't without its share of humor and being that three weeks has past it seems a reasonable amount of time to wait before bringing forth the truth surrounding the sad event.
Walt was not what you would call a lightweight of the species. Weighing in at a reasonably hefty 11 kilos dry it would be fair to suggest that his little heart was probably under more stress than that of the average hippo.
On two previous occasions we had discovered him lying on the ground, semi catatonic with drool coming from the corner of his mouth and a look on his head vaguely resembling the look you see on the heads of clubbers stumbling out the door of their favorite night spot at 5AM in the morning.
We assumed he might have fallen badly from the handrail of one of our many decks and taken a reasonable knock to the head because given a day to recover he generally came straight back to normal health and showed no sign of carrying any further injury.
In hindsight (and after consulting with a friend trained in Veterinary services) it was probably most likely he had suffered a small heart attack on each of these prior occasions and very likely it was a massive coronary failure that had finished him in the end.
Just so nobody gets me wrong; Walt was not force fed, no, no, no! He had simply developed a love for food and all things food. It was his primary motivation, his life skill, his kung fu, if you will and he had trained long and hard - as such, his kung fu was strong!
Anyway, we discovered his lifeless body lying on his favorite deck beside his beloved barbeque early one morning before leaving for work.
Alex and I both cuddled and patted him before I wrapped him lovingly in an old towel and left him to lie in state in the middle of our dining room table.
At work that day I found a suitable sized cardboard box in which we could bury him along with his well worn food bowls.
Alex and I returned home later that afternoon armed with our impromptu burial casket and began the mournful task of disposing of our much loved 'fatty'.
The first thing we did was to unwrap him for last hugs and it was while we both had our faces buried in his thick fur that we became aware of just exactly how many fleas he was truly lugging around on him; many, would be the understatement of the year!
It seems that although we had never seen a single flea on him while he was alive this was not due to there being none on him, it was mostly due to them never exposing themselves to us and losing the opportunity to live long and comfortable lives housed on a mobile fast food franchise and I don't mean fast food outlet, no way, he was the whole damn franchise! But when the fryers and hotplates went cold those fleas were out of there faster than a streak of weasels piss and because we had a towel wrapped around him it appeared they were somewhat trapped.
They were of course, more than happy to make a hurried escape when offered the altogether tempting new premises that Alex's and my, face and hair offered. It was, to say the least, an altogether most unsatisfying farewell snuggle!
Having had to guess the necessary dimensions of the box while at work I had drastically underestimated the girth of Walt and it soon became obvious that the lid of the casket would in no way remain closed by its own means. This necessitated the application of much sticky tape which on a whole, greatly diminished the decorum and aplomb normally associated with these solemn occasions. It also meant, on a much more selfish but practical note, that the hole I would now have to dig would need to be at least another six inches deeper.
I had decided that Walters final resting place would be in a small and much overgrown garden at the back of the house directly under our bathroom windows, where if we wanted too, we could look down at when having a pee or brushing our teeth.
The topsoil here was as thick as could be found anywhere else on the property and with darkness and rain threatening to close in I set about digging Walters grave.
Now anybody reading this who lives in Auckland will understand that digging any hole deeper than 12 to 14 inches deep is going to mean digging clay. Auckland on a whole is built on clay. In winter it becomes impermeable and so sticky that should you be fortunate enough to get a spade into it you can never get it off the end, in summer it becomes impermeable and something akin to rock. So all in all the Auckland clay is simply impermeable 365 days of the year.
After digging the top 14 inches of top soil away from my roughly 3 foot by 3 foot hole I promptly broke my spade on striking the aforementioned clay. Darkness was by now threatening to beat me to the close so I raced to the neighbors and borrowed the stoutest spade I could.
Two hours later after much sweating, swearing and cursing I had managed to get down another 14 inches if I was lucky and ignoring the rather unceremonious bulge in the box this gave me at least 6 inches of soil to cover the box with. Plus I figured, rather lazily I might add, a small mound on top would mean all was in order, the job would be complete and the box would be covered by a good solid foot of soil.
What I hadn't figured on was how hard it would be to put all that clay back into the hole and I quickly decided that covering the box in the easily shifted topsoil would be far more optimal. The only problem with this line of thinking was that the topsoil was quickly swallowed by the pit and I was left to try and fill the remaining space with large chunks of unforgiving clay. By the end however Alex and I were both reasonably satisfied with my efforts and we stood quietly and tearfully over the remains of Walt and said our goodbyes.
Fast forward two weeks to approximately one week ago. We have had rain everyday of the two weeks following Walt's funeral except for the weekends which have been extremely warm.
The mound on top of the grave has sunk - I guess the cardboard box has finally collapsed and the remains have no doubt got rather wet, extremely decomposed and then nicely warmed on the weekends...
Monday morning last week I went into the bathroom and threw open the windows before taking a shower.
The ghost of Walt leaped through the window and smote me directly in the olfactory gland!
Oh my god now that is some very special shit right there and talk about staying power.. The extractor fan in the bathroom had the undesirable effect of spreading the odor throughout the entire roofspace whereby it proceeded to fall in large clumps from every available unused penetration in the ceiling, to slap us rudely about the face!
So it would seem that though he may be gone Walter Tipuna Wawatai has not yet finished extracting his final pound of flesh.
And I have been sagely reminded of two important facts:
1) Dead things stink to high heaven whether once beloved or not.
2) Don't be lazy when burying said dead things.
Currently listening to:
The Prodigy - Baby's got a temper.
Taylor Swift - Fearless. (don't be hating)
