Page Fifty-one

Laxa, like so many others, didn’t begin her life as my cat. She was another cast-off of someone else. But in her brief time with us she gave us three beautiful children, and those children were stolen from me in March of 2008, when they were seven and a half years old.

Like Leo, she was orange with orange eyes, though short-haired and very tiny. Born very late in 1998, somewhere in the center of this toxic town, and allowed at a very young age to wander around begging for food and shelter. She went begging a number of times to my daughter, and my daughter finally kept her.

When said daughter moved out of state in November 1999, she took only one of her four animals with her, not knowing exactly what kind of rent she was going to find, and so the other three, Laxa among them, stayed here and became mine.

More weird numbers: Laxa was left behind on 2 November 1999, and died on 2 November 2003. I can’t help it. I know a few people at least are probably tired of me going on about numbers that coincide, but there’s just no stopping it. My brain has a fixation on such things.

In between the first momentous November 2nd and the second one four years later, there were many great moments of Laxa’s idiosyncracies, and many unnerving ones. Laxa, like Beavis the rabbit, could fly straight up walls. Whenever something spooked her, which wasn’t too often, straight up a wall she’d go. Being very small, she loved to curl up against my neck when I was sleeping, and she fit there perfectly. She was also fond of escaping out the kitchen door, which was not allowed because she was not yet spayed. Every time she made a run for it, I was able to catch her. Every time but one, and that’s the time she got pregnant. When she gave birth, she did so while I was out, and decided that the right spot for her confinement was at the bottom of a ten-foot pile of dirty laundry (the washer was broken). The nest box I had made her was apparently not to her specifications. I came home and she was gone. An hour’s searching produced her on a windowsill where she had not been five minutes earlier. Another hour’s search for the kittens brought me back to that same window, wondering why she chose to sit on that particular sill beside the laundry. Then the lightbulb finally went on: she sat there because the kittens are there. There in that laundry. I had to dig all the way down to the bottom. A tan boy, an orange boy, and a calico girl. These would become Abel, Aram and Chani number two. As time passed, Chani and her mother remained particularly close.

On the second momentous November 2nd, Laxa was run down and killed in the street by a human wielding a car. As I was on my way to remove her body from the road, a second human wielding a second car ran over her again, ripping open her little body, despite the fact that this troll could see me in the road walking over to the cat. Troll ran over the cat anyway, tearing her belly and releasing its contents onto the pavement. I do believe I’ve mentioned once or twice that I have little use or love for the human species.


read…    Poison and snowflake trees...    Spite and malice

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

Published in: on December 10, 2011 at 3:19 pm  Comments (2)  
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2 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. PhotoBotos… thanks much for the like

  2. Ditto my thanks to Kitty B.

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