FOR AULD LANG SYNE, MY DEAR

 

At the dawn of New Year’s eve, I sang Auld Lang Syne with Estebel in my arms.

She was content and she was warm, and when the officer there receive her, he didn’t ask why there were wet spots on top of her blanket. He didn’t know there was a crack big enough at the back of the centuries old crematorium where I watched what was hidden from the eye of the grieving

I couldn’t see it either, I was too busy wiping off my eyes, that the peculiar Scottish song went bad and false at times.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stoup!
and surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
and pou’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin’ auld lang syne.

Yes we both will take a cup of kindness, and we’ll talk about it with a pint of beer, maybe better ice cream, when an errand in the office I worked for came whispering that he had a mother cat and her four kittens stowed away, instead of the instruction to destroy and dump them elsewhere.

We will both remember how the man whispered that certain nook of the security post, and how I somehow sneaked past everyone downstairs, security and errands, suddenly busy with everything out of nothing, and gave us a chance to look at each other, before I snatched her box and ran away to the nearest house to keep her safe just enough until I am ending my work day.

It was 2013.

In the next four years she was spayed, and then she was named Estebel (ESaved byThE BELl boy). She was five years old with body of a ten year old, all due to her life on the street and the frequent mating gist. She couldn’t have fought the nature call.

In the next four years she raised two of her four kittens, who becomes Porthos and Whitney, both handsome and beautiful.

In the next four years she turns her black and white fur shiny and soft. It’s not coarse like carpet, it’s fluffy like rug.
In the next four years she catches up with the youth that has been robbed off her, and chase the ball, turn the cheese, roll with catnip pillows, and drool on it while she sleeps.

In the next four years, she survived two surgeries for budding tumor and come back bouncing fit as a fiddle.

In the last four years, as her blacks turned gray and her muscle turns creaky, she raised many kittens as her own and when the sun went down, she would call a basket for her own.

And in the last four years, she taught me what life is. Life is enjoying each day break with a look to the sky and say thank you to each passing night. Life is reaching farthest to the past and make up for everything possible and then keep it inside as we run to the future.

Life is doing what I can do and what I should do at forty, so that we can do what we should do at fifty.

In the last four years, she picked the most beautiful half moon in a clear sky, the long awaited rain, and the best sun rise in the east. Not too dark, not quite light. The sun is red peeking from the horizon and the moon not quite fade in the other side. There were some stars still twinkling in the sky, and some of the clouds were grey and gloom but most are burn red, and some stay clear and blue.

She has the banquet of the entire galaxy in her farewell and a brilliant welcoming to a new life.

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin’ auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
and gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak’ a right gude-willie waught,
for auld lang syne.

I took my deep breath, as my tears run dry. I went downhill home and try to find the very best picture that will represent my loss and my greatest bitter as the year turns to an end.

But the only one I find, is the video. With cheerful song and as it begins first with her and her baby, and then another, when she peeked through her back with her litter in tow.

I was disappointed.

Maybe, that’s how she would want to be remembered?
The merry making, the story telling, the stars and the wind. The rain and the happy song, when one is out of misery and going home to a cheerful, brightly home?

She was there with her own, and she was there with other kittens she helped raised. Freed as a baby, Lady Sparky Terror, and Gianfranco Carlos, as he is named by a child who found the cub.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne*?

No, not at all.

For at the end of it all, you and I, my friend, we will see each other by the gate, and we’ll be walking again down the line of the daisies, each chattering about what we love, each talking about what we lost, but both celebrating what we made.

To Auld Lang Syne.

~Josie

paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

This post used a Scot Folk Song in its original form (and the one I can sing, which at times raise some eyebrows as it’s not quite English)

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne*?

For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stoup!
and surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
and pou’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin’ auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin’ auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
and gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak’ a right gude-willie waught,
for auld lang syne.

English adaptation of the song as follows:

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and old lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And surely you’ll buy your pint cup!
and surely I’ll buy mine!
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

We two have run about the slopes,
and picked the daisies fine;
But we’ve wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.

We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine†;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand my trusty friend!
And give me a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.


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