Dan A. Cardoza’s poetry, nonfiction, and fiction have met international acceptance. He has an M.S. degree in education from C.S.U.S. Most recently his work has been featured in California Quarterly, Cleaver, Coffin Bell/2019 Anthology, Dime Show Review, Entropy, Five:2:One, Gravel, New Flash Fiction Review, Poached Hare, and Spelk.
The Cherry Box
Finally, the small box arrived with her cremations. With two failed marriages, he was experienced with death, but until now, not literally. Ole McKenzie had waited eighteen years for this well crafted cherry box to arrive, not one day less, not one day more.
His modern kitchen was meat locker cold. He placed the brown shipped box on the onyx counter the granite as cold as a morgue. Utility bills, not a priority. With his pocket knife, he cut the taut sinewy twine. McKenzie at sixty-nine looked worn beyond his age. So he was thankful he’d have less time to grieve, now that the 7x7x7 box arrived.
If nothing else, ole McKenzie was organized. He thought it convenient he could now complete his life’s mourning all at the same time. His oncologist on Monday, “Your liver is a pound of burgundy Swiss cheese. I know, I enjoyed it for dessert last summer in Annecy, France.”
As for the dying, it would be soon. He toasted his last glass of cognac at the cherry box.
~~~
On the way to his beloved Ancil Hoffman Park, built more like a Forrest, he did most of the talking. After all, it was well known, Purrdy was never one for chatter or meowing.
~~~
Regrettably, he’d purchased Purrdy from a pet store, too common way back then. It was eighteen very long years ago. So-called animal shelters were just other names for Auschwitz, Treblinka, and Dachau. Picking was scarce, the offseason for kittens.
How could he forget? Purrdy a kitten shared a moderate enclosure with two older cats. As we approached the cage, she rose straightened her tail like a stove pipe. Then she bowed, swirled her tail into smoke, her purr a guttural low howl. She was theatrical and full of the apropos feline drama, as she sold her affection to his second wife.
Sally pleaded, “I can’t live without her. You know the loss of the two late-term babies I buried. Please, she purrs like a furry base harmonica? Jack, I’ll have someone to nurture.”
In less than one week, Purrdy never let anyone pet her again. Took up bivouac under their second marital bed.
~~~
Signing the divorce papers was awkward. Sally’s attorney had written, “Sally doesn’t want her. Besides, she’s too damned feral.” McKenzie read in disbelief and silence. The truth is he never wanted Purrdy, or Maddy the dog either. That is until they needed him.
~~~
In his beloved park, near dark, he released her ashes from the box into the windy spring evening. He didn’t mind that some of her dust settled in his white hair. He’d grown to love her.
He bawled alone, except for the attending woods. He wished her well, begged her to never change, to stay brave and wild. Stalk lions, tigers and bears. Enjoy bloody rabbits. Roam the banks of the river for fall salmon; stamp the dirt of her paths to dust in the forest.
McKenzie died one week later.