It should have been raining

Funerals are supposed to be in the rain, dammit. The very heavens should weep with sorrow at the passing of such a beloved one.

The skies were grey, overcast, heavy with clouds. But the only rain was our tears, streaming down faces contorted with heartbreak.

I was one of Shadow's humans for a little over a year— far less time than my beloved riverheart, who had known her since kittenhood. Yet in that brief time I came to love her, even though she was at times thoroughly exasperating. And, I think, she accepted me as one of her very few "acceptable humans".

She didn't like being picked up, but once in my lap she'd settle down, purr, and wash my hand. When I sat on the sofa, from time to time she'd jump onto its arm and let it be known that she would accept petting and skritches. She'd even come to me and politely ask to be let out, if she weren't feeling unduly cantankerous or "editorial".

Elsewhere, riverheart described her final days, her swift descent into discomfort and distress, and the necessary (yet painful) decision we made to allow her an easy passage into the Summerlands.

We brought her empty shell home, prepared a place of burial, and laid her body to rest under the spreading branches of one of our land's guardian trees. We planted some bulbs, crocuses and daffs, for an everliving memorial, and also re-planted a native blackberry (no invader plants for us, only local strains!). We marked the grave with stones.

But there was no rain. There should always be rain for a funeral, but there was none.

So we watered the soil with our tears.

Came the rain

About four o'clock I was upstairs, and I heard the unmistakable patter of rain outside. Not a downpour, that wouldn't have been seemly. Just… rain. Just enough rain.

So we prepared a feast, to honor Shadow's memory. Y'know, the Irish have it right: weep at the funeral, laugh at the wake.

Salmon. Copper River King Salmon, in fact; a thick portion, dotted with butter and covered in Ginger Wasabi Sauce. Broccoli florets, with a smidgin of butter and parmesan cheese. Champagne (all right, it was Californian; sparkling wine prepared in the traditional style. It was Domaine Chandon Blanc de Noirs, which is pretty tasty stuff regardless of where it was grown) in crystal flutes.

Dinner was ready about eight o'clock, and as we sat down we looked out the back windows, to the east.

There was a full-arc rainbow, with a very very faint double.

Tears. Many tears, of sorrow and joy; Shadow was going home, on the Rainbow Bridge painted across our sky.

In the distance, we heard a gentle miaow, though no cat could be seen.

The salmon was delicious.