My male cat Niño died on May 12th. In one of my rose pots have the ashes in a nice urn of Rosemary’s beloved cat Casi-Casi. I opted to do the same with Niño. I was charged $550. My Argentine family would tell me, “Es sólo un gato” or it’s only a cat. They would further point out that for that sum money one could have an average human funeral.

The urn came with a card with the condolences of all the women in the vet hospital who knew Niño and understood how special he was.

My neighbours after Niño died asked me, “Why aren’t you calling Niño in the evening to come home?

My Rosemary also had an urn with her ashes and my daughter spread (some of them?) in her Lillooet garden.

It was years ago that when Rosemary and I went to London at Westminster Abbey I made sure I stepped over H.G.Wells  tile and said , “Hi.”

Somehow I grieve that my Rosemary is only in my memory and in her absent presence in our house and garden.

And that is why I spent all that money to have Niño’s ashes. Nobody will care when I meet my oblivion. I will be ashes, too.