farewell to royalty

You can take all the
Harry Potters
with their lightning bolts
o'er their brows,
Put them all in
one room together
and they would have less
power than her.

She was sweeter than
purest honey,
Now she's an angel
of the first degree,
Yes, she was sweeter,
sweeter
than purest honey,
Sweeter than honey,
oh yes,
from the bee.

Honestly, I think Van Morrison would not mind one whit my taking inspiration for the above poetry from his lyrics for "Tupelo Honey".
Especially when such poetry is in memory of the Contessa.
Contessa is now stardust.
I hope the physicist will take solace from that.
I have spent part of the last two days with him.
Contessa died on Saturday afternoon, with her energy ebbing away as the daylight turned to dusk.
He called me on Sunday evening.
No, let me emphasize that.
He called me on Sunday evening.
The man whose every communique has been by text or email called.
Knowing it was his birthday, I sang the tune, then said hello. He wanted to ask a favor of me, he said, his voice not quite right. Would I be able to take him to Fox & Weeks tomorrow (Monday)? Contessa had died and he wanted to take her there for cremation.
Shock.
Definite shock.
For him.
For me.
I had known 'Tess had a stroke last fall, but she had recovered.
I knew her hyperthyroidism had worsened and the bfe was having trouble getting any weight on her slight frame, but that seemed to be a controllable issue.
No, it was Chloe that was the bigger concern, always, with her tumor in her peritoneal cavity. Chloe was the one that had me holding my breath in summer of 2013 when I was tending the girls.
Chloe's health was the reason I had researched pet cremation two years ago. I knew the folks at Tail Spin through First City Network, so trusted their recommendation. The two gentlemen I spoke to at Fox & Weeks about their Pets at Peace were very understanding and gave me brochures for the bfe.
Now, two years later, he had pulled them out for use. For the other cat.
For Contessa.
The cat that whispered to me.
The blue tortoise with the peach blur that controlled the radio waves to make sure I came to see her.
The kitteh that kidnapped my cooler.
The cat-dog who found my hands and my lap to be purr-fect for her.
(Sigh.)
Now, her ashes are in a cloth bag in a Cherry-hued, multi-tone, wooden, Rainbow Bridge urn.
At least I was able to make sure she made it home safely, without the bfe having to endure questions from strangers on the bus about the Pets at Peace bag and its contents.
I know he can handle the ride alone just fine. Time amongst strangers provides a needed breathing period during emotionally-charged times.
But if he had the urn and Contessa with him, he would have to explain the loss, possibly over and over.
I know how hard loss is.
I hope I was able to soften that loss a little for him.

I sure am going to miss that sweet, loving cat.