The house I used to live in, where the bear visited me, has burned to the ground. I have been at a loss for words for two days now. A neighbor called me before the fire trucks came, but it was out by the time I got there. Only wisps of smoke rose from the wreck.
I had just been there the day before, to help an old house mate, and love on the animals for a while. Another house mate died, as well as all the animals. Two people made it out alive.
I cannot describe the horror I felt, looking at the poor, burned house. No more than I can tell you how I feel this morning, having coffee, listening to National Public Radio, and thinking of the animals, waiting for someone to come and get them, alone and afraid. I cannot bear the thoughts.
I will not write about the dead woman. She was mentally incompetent, and was a great animal lover. But she is not part of the blog, or my life.
But the other house mate, and the animals, are.
There was Jasmine: I called her "Jazzy June". She was an 18 year old, excitable, Mini Doberman Pinscher. She was love on a stick, and her small, stubby tail would wiggle her back end, when she saw me.
Grace, or "Gracie" was an grumpy dilute torti, who, despite the handicap of having to live in a cat's body, knew she was a goddess. She would come running for food, or love, at any time of the day or night. And she was a great escape artist, shooting out of an open door, like a cannonball shot out of a cannon.
Together, they would cover my lap when I went to visit. Gracie, the little fat dumpling, was bigger than Jasmine, and she always won the lap spot. But Jazz would settle in beside me, or jump up on me when Gracie had had enough love.
They were found in the living room, huddled on the couch together. I can't think of it!
It has been a whirlwind, and I cannot sleep.