A few months ago I was putting together a playlist called Hallelujah. Predictably it was comprised of renditions of the song Hallelujah by different artists. At the time I was having a lot of powerful emotions and I had gotten stoned and listened to KD Lang’s version on repeat with my noise-canceling headphones cranked all the way up. I sang along loudly tears streaming down my face. I wanted to scream sing and cry to all the good versions of the song and I didn’t ever want to sit through a bunch of shitty versions popping up and stopping me from my righteous tear-stained musical mental breakdown moment.

Still, I beat myself up for being so ridiculous. Surely this sitting and crying and listening to Hallelujah over and over was a one-time kind of thing. But I made the list. Even though my less kind inner voice nagged that I would never use it. That I was silly and stupid and spiraling.

What were the chances I would need that specific playlist?

Ever?

Thin. Pretty fucking thin.

And yet as I sat in the dirt of my garden Saturday morning I found myself listening to my Hallelujah playlist. Loudly on my headphones so I could drown everything else out.

Preparing to dig. Digging. Feeling every note. Feeling every word. Trying desperately not to scream-sing the lyrics with tears streaming down my face and snot threatening to flow from my nose. My neighbors were having a garage sale on the other side of the fence.

I was digging a grave.

Spike died in my arms around 5:30 on Friday evening. He was always a happy hour cat. Rick soothed him with touches to his little head and paws. We both told him quietly that he had been a very good cat. I told him that he saved me. How very loved he was. That it was okay for him to go.

And then he was gone.

I held him a while longer knowing that the moment his body left my arms I would never be able to touch it again without screaming and freaking out. While he was still in my arms he was still my Spike. When I set him down he wouldn’t be.

So I was digging a grave for my constant companion. My shadow. My meditation buddy. My sweet little black cat. But I was digging that grave quietly. Because neighbors.

Nothing like mourning self-consciously.

I’m listening to the playlist again right now. Writing this. Waiting for the freshly mopped living room floor to dry. For the freshly cleaned living room rug to dry. Preparing to piece the room back together without a trace of litter boxes and cat supplies. To find a way to make it all come together without Spike.

Every time I see a black shape out the corner of my eye I think it’s him. Spike was the very best kitty. Rest in peace my sweet cat. I was lucky to have you in my life.