A week ago Saturday our beloved cat Bandit was put to sleep. Her cancer had finally spread, quite suddenly, and we knew it was time. After we held her, and said our goodbyes, and buried her, I found my thoughts straying to a book for comfort. No, not the Bible. No, not a childhood book like Black Beauty or Little House on the Prairies or even Anne of Green Gables.
No, surprisingly, my thought flew towards Stephen King. Out of the blue, I wanted to read Pet Semetary. The urge was so strong, that after checking my shelves - once upon a time I owned all of his books, and am now rebuilding my collection of his titles - discovering I hadn't replaced it, I rushed out and bought it at Chapters. I read The Cipher Garden as fast as I could (very very good mystery by the way, will review it shortly; I was in the middle of this when all this with Bandit happened, and after waiting 6 weeks for the book, I was not putting it down again until it was done!!) and then opened up Pet Semetary with a happy sigh.
I can feel you all looking at me. But Susan, it's a horror novel! you are all saying. In fact a friend of mine at work asked me on Friday about this. Your cat just died, and you're reading Pet Semetary, she asked. Can I ask why?
Yes, I answered. I want to remember why it's good to not want my cat to come back.
It's funny what our minds turn to for comfort, and what books we suddenly need to hand, isn't it?
I haven't read Pet Semetary in over 15 years, and I am enjoying/deliciously scared by it all over again. And I'm really hoping I never see the earth disturbed over top of where she is lying.
Goodbye Bandit, you were such a beloved kitty.