R.I.P. Luther
I had to work late tonight at school, so I was just coming home when the kids were heading off for bed. In the process of changing my clothes -- it was in the mid-80s today, and I couldn't wait to get my tie off and get into some shorts -- Tiffani yelled 'Christopher' which I knew meant something was up. I hustled upstairs and the kids were finished with their bedtime bathroom duties, a little informed and a little surprised, but Luther was certainly dead in the top bunk in Shea's room. Laying with some rigor on the blankets, and a whiff of an odor as well, I took Luther downstairs after the kids said their goodbyes and touched him for the last time, washed my hands and came back up for the goodnights.
We all discussed Luther's passing while the bed was changed, and how it may have occurred, and the kids were understandably pretty upset. Sophia and Cori took it the hardest, with Nick working the logic of it all, how it paled, for him, to the pain he felt at Great Grandma Turner's recent passing. Seamus was adamant that he died because he ate a skunk, repeating it three or four times, which I agreed was a pretty good theory, considering that Luther killed and ate countless animals, and a skunk might taste so bad it could prove to be the end of you.
Regrettably, I poured through our iPhoto library, and could not find a photo with Luther anywhere in it. I will have to go back through some of the burned CDs to see if he is represented. Otherwise, the tragedy is a little greater for not having picture memories of him, especially with how strikingly, wholly black he was. He is buried in the northeast corner of our backyard, near all the carcasses he created, the squirrels, the rabbits and bunnies, the chipmunks, and the assortment of birds. Even a bat. Curious, though, how he was bounding around just yesterday evening, as usual, hiding and pouncing near the bushes at the north end of the yard, pretending to attack, following the kids up the block, crouching and hopping and retreating, tail sweeping the grass. He was always quite the traveller and adventurer, having lived in four different houses, and Tiffani had caught him several times on the other side of our adjacent block on her morning walks with Otis. We will all miss your insistence and your driving purr and your attempts at marking us, your trophies, and the triumphs over your peers across the street, you had a good six years. Sweet dreams, Luther.
We all discussed Luther's passing while the bed was changed, and how it may have occurred, and the kids were understandably pretty upset. Sophia and Cori took it the hardest, with Nick working the logic of it all, how it paled, for him, to the pain he felt at Great Grandma Turner's recent passing. Seamus was adamant that he died because he ate a skunk, repeating it three or four times, which I agreed was a pretty good theory, considering that Luther killed and ate countless animals, and a skunk might taste so bad it could prove to be the end of you.
Regrettably, I poured through our iPhoto library, and could not find a photo with Luther anywhere in it. I will have to go back through some of the burned CDs to see if he is represented. Otherwise, the tragedy is a little greater for not having picture memories of him, especially with how strikingly, wholly black he was. He is buried in the northeast corner of our backyard, near all the carcasses he created, the squirrels, the rabbits and bunnies, the chipmunks, and the assortment of birds. Even a bat. Curious, though, how he was bounding around just yesterday evening, as usual, hiding and pouncing near the bushes at the north end of the yard, pretending to attack, following the kids up the block, crouching and hopping and retreating, tail sweeping the grass. He was always quite the traveller and adventurer, having lived in four different houses, and Tiffani had caught him several times on the other side of our adjacent block on her morning walks with Otis. We will all miss your insistence and your driving purr and your attempts at marking us, your trophies, and the triumphs over your peers across the street, you had a good six years. Sweet dreams, Luther.
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