Well, I've put this off as long as I can.
I had been avoiding this journal entry because I would of course
have to mention spring and the going ons in my garden, which
means that I'd have to discuss Mojo.
Mojo was one of my cats. He's in the photo on this page, on the
left. He was hit and killed by a car last November. I had Mojo
in my life for just under five years. He arrived as a stray on
Christmas Eve - there was no room at the inn so to speak.
As time passed, and we got to know each other, Mojo became
more than a pet. He was my companion, my buddy. We understood
each other on an instinctive level. He'd meow at me and I would
just know what he needed: a cuddle, some grub or the night air.
He also saw me through a lot of very difficult times and was
always ready with some comfort when I wasn't up to par.
I remember distinctly when I collapsed a few years ago. An
undiagnosed digestive disorder had finally taken its toll and my
malnourished and worn out body basically gave up. When I came
to, my head was bleeding. Somehow I managed to get it together
enough to call my parents and get back to bed.
As I lay there waiting for them, I felt the tell tale tug at the
side of the bed. Mojo was a manx cat, a tailess breed that isn't
inclined towards jumping. Mojo's standard method of ascent was to
dig in his claws and yank himself up towards wherever he wanted
to go. I felt him sit by my back and then the weight of his paw
on my arm. It didn't move until 40 minutes later when the door
unlocked and my parents arrived.
During the 16 months it took me to rebuild my body and spirit, I
spent a lot of time in my 9 x 11 plot with roses and clematis,
tulips, shamrocks and tiger lilies. Mojo was there too, steadily
wearing down a patch of mulch in his favourite sleeping spot,
using the 100 year old tree as his personal scratching post, or
sometimes wandering around smelling the flowers. We both resigned
ourselves to the oncoming winter and rejoiced at the arrival of
spring. Being in the garden with Mojo did as much to heal me as
any drug or tonic because he appreciated its pleasures as much as
I did.
After the initial shock of his death wore off, work took over and
winter was in full swing. It is only now that spring is here and
I labour in my new garden, contemplate what to plant where, what
to discard and what to repair, that Mojo's absence is something
I'm re-experiencing and feeling acutely. Mojo and I spent so
much time in the garden together that for me, it's almost
synonymous with him.
Gardening is now a solo enterprise and I feel lonely. There is
the odd visit from a neighbourhood cat, but it's a rare
occurence. I feel sad that Mojo won't be here to enjoy the new
garden I'm building or be able to lounge on our front porch to
have his bones soaked by the summer sun.
I could let my other cats out to wander, but I don't. They are
now indoor cats because I simply cannot go through the same thing
again. Whether they have fur or not, there is nothing that
prepares you for seeing a family member so badly injured, never
mind stiff and cold to boot. So they have supervised visits in
the garden with me. While they sniff around and content
themselves, I contemplate where to place wisteria and lilac
bushes.
If I am grateful for one thing, it's that I transplanted so much
of my old garden to our new house. If Mojo's presence here was
not to be, my garden is at least a testament to the time we did
share together and the garden we enjoyed. And when I leave the
house and see his favourite rose bush, I'll smile when I think of
a being that to most people, was a one foot nothing, twelve pound
fur ball, but for me, was one of the best friends I know I'll
ever have.
previous entry
| 
