Put The Cat In The Freezer

Dawn's cat died. Three months ago. She's been keeping him in her studio apartment in the old 1960's single door fridge with a spring loaded fold down pocket freezer compartment that's normally one solid block of ice. When Gus finally passed away at 17 years of age, riddled with tumours, blind from cataracts, incontinant and incessantly vocal, Dawn was inconsolable. She tells people it was a psychotic break, a total mental, emotional breakdown. She stopped showing up for work, begged off commitments to her animal rights weekly potlucks and even missed the chanting pizza monthly get togethers with the Krishnas. That was the worst as she cherished the communal atmosphere and free vegan gluten free pizza and raw desserts. Plus, no one looked at her sideways there. Her two toned grey and red hair, braided as it was 40 years ago when she was a school girl,  her uniform of athletic sandals, an armful of bracelets, short shorts worn year round, with tights in the winter, and a single tattoo across the inside of her wrist which reads Ahimsa in sanskrit. Do no harm. At the break of day every morning Dawn scours the parks as the weather warms up, avoiding the early morning joggers and dog walkers, searching for just the right burial place for Gus. She does her best to remain anonymous, stealthy, but she knows she cuts a figure. At 6'1" she has a Valkyrian-like quality, a gypsy energy, a slightly unhinged depseration as they days turn to weeks and her cat's corpse begins to attach itself to the freezer walls, becoming one with the frost laden cubicle. She worries about breaking the law but she feels there are no other options. She refused euthenasia, didn't want him cremated with the dozens of other random animals only to end up in some communal monument. He died in her arms. It wasn't pretty. Gus preferred his own space, at the expense of Dawn's comfort. She believes that by bringing him back to the land in a private, solitary grave she continues to honour his feline spirit. Work has been threatening her with dismissal. Two months of leave is a lot for a telemarketer. They put up with her flyers and prosyletizing, even her black bean brownie snacks. Mourning a geriatric palliative cat is testing their patience. Dawn's praying for a deep thaw soon. Gotta dig that hole this week.