tamarjacobson

The yard used to belong to Molly. It was clearly her domain. I know this now because since her death, there seems to be some kind of party going on outside. The butterfly bushes are full to bursting with all colors, shapes and sizes of butterflies. The birdbath has goldfinches, robins, doves, titmouse, cardinals, blue jays, cat birds, chickadees, and who knows who else drinking, bathing, splashing, singing and calling out to one another, "Hey! Bring the beer!"

Ada and I sit on the porch and watch as hummingbirds approach their feeder. First they drop down really low and observe us up close and personal. Then, with a strange little tweet, they drink the sweetened elixir I prepared for them before flying off high into the surrounding trees with an excited squeal. Ada tried to chase down one of the cicadas that was hopping in the hydrangea bush. But she really does not like to exert herself that much and after about two minutes of figuring it out she returned inside the house to have a snack.

Sometimes I call out to the squirrels dancing on the porch, "Hey! This is Molly’s place! What’s the matter with you?" They look at me and continue to jive, scuttling out to the flower beds to dig for bulbs. Ada and I look on silently. Tears roll down my cheeks as I remember Molly jumping two feet off the ground to bring down a huge yellow butterfly. She looked as free as could be with the sunlight shining on her ginger coat. I walk over to the spot under the trees at the end of garden path where I buried her ashes. The piece of coreopsis I transplanted over her grave is blooming and I have a feeling, with all the goings on lately, that the chipmunks probably burrow under there to torment her soul. "Hi Molly," I whisper under my breath. "There is complete animal chaos going on in our yard, sweet kitty. I don’t know what you’d think about it all, sweetheart."

Ada jumps onto my lap and I caress her furry body with long, firm strokes as we watch the frivolities of all the little critters outside. As I look up I see a doe stroll over to the bird feeder. A little further away stand two smaller deer – her children. It feels like a Disneyland party. Am just waiting for Ada to break into song as the hummingbird hovers down low once again to check her out.

Instead, Ada yawns. A large, wide yawn. She jumps off my lap onto the porch, and then, rolling onto her side, stretches her right paw out in front and sets about basking lazily in the afternoon sun.