Lucy curls on the landing in the sun at the top of the steps, a rainbow cast by refraction through the window crystal brushing the top of her head and coloring the tip of her ear, giving her shadow silhouette the appearance of a halo over her head.
Splashes of rainbows lately, in my studio especially, have been bringing this to mind, and for some reason today when Mimi and I wandered the garden, I wondered what memory followed us.
We came inside and I looked at photos from June 13 in several years in the recent past, one of the quickest ways to determine what was happening at a particular time or on a particular day. Some lovely wildflowers, a canoe trip on Chartiers Creek, delicate twining pea plants in the garden, but nothing to do with cats.
Except on June 13, 2007, where I found this photo. Lucy was feeling okay through June that year, not the kitten she should have been but seemingly recovered from the downswing after her diagnosis with FIP she was eating well, was fairly active and maintaining her weight. I saw in her eyes that we could not win, but we resolved we were not going to give up without a fight, and that we would enjoy every single last second we had. We never “win” at life anyway, do we?
The rainbows began appearing around her about this time, but I think I only noticed them because of her. When the sun has finally risen near its summer angle, we suddenly have big flashes of rainbows from the window crystals every June, that was coincidence. I do think, however, she sought them out, and that was not coincidence.
So Mimi and I explored the wet garden today, dripping after last night’s storm, brick paths washed clean, plants vibrant and vigorous, and there were no rainbows but something we remembered about that garden.
Mimi probably visited the garden on this date in 2007, not terribly different six years ago from today, her four lovely kittens, now grown, just tiny beans in her belly to be born six weeks later, and she, looking for voles and chipmunks and the water bowl I always kept fresh near the basement door, hungry for food and something she could not name, possibly wondering what it was like inside there, where her daughter lived.
Read more about Lucy.
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