Plus ça change…plus ça change
I regret to inform you that the derelict truck is no longer with us. As is so often the case, he hung on through the holidays and saw in the New Year with us, only to be cruelly and suddenly taken from us in the early, bleak days of January.
Zeno meditates upon the grievous loss of our derelict truck, which sat for so long just outside this very window, the window where now there is but a void!
The derelict truck lived a good life, and an exceptionally long one—much longer than most would have predicted or, in some cases, even wished—although in his declining years his mobility, which indeed had meant everything to him, became extremely limited. And yet he never complained, even as his tires sank into the asphalt and all of his oil leaked out onto the driveway.
Or onto Zeno’s back when the cat took shelter under his rusting engine, which was nearly every day. In jest, the derelict truck once suggested that Zeno had absorbed so much oil into his fur that he almost qualified as an alternative energy source. But we knew that under that gruff, rusted exterior and behind the joking suggestions that we convert Zeno into heat or fuel, the derelict truck truly loved his kitty friend.
Exactly the way we all do.
I am SO still in the anger phase…
Born circa 1980, the derelict truck is survived by his best friend Zeno, of the home, by some of his own tires, of the garage, and by his loving family Ellen, Alex, and Shelley, also of the home.
I’ve seen all I can bear.
“Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang…”
Your time with us was too short, but we take comfort in the sure knowledge that you have passed on to your reward, and are now providing transportation for James Brown and Gerald Ford on that Great Highway in the sky.
Rest in peace, derelict truck.
January 6th, 2007 at 3:12 am
Hilarious! We just plunked down $2,400 to replace the transmission in a $1,200 mini van. By all rights it should have been cruising that great speedway in the sky with your late truck. I just hope the organ transplant won’t be in vain. My sympathies to Zeno in his time of sadness.
January 6th, 2007 at 8:39 am
You’ll adjust, Ellen. Baby steps. You can get through this.
January 6th, 2007 at 12:53 pm
So sad, so heartbreakingly sad. Perhaps you can build Zeno a truck-shaped kitty condo right outside the window, or maybe even inside (it has been raining a lot).
January 6th, 2007 at 3:19 pm
“Johnnie, we hardly knew ye…”
*snfl*
A tone poem from the heart. Zeno’s progression of emotion is heartwrenching, truly heartwrenching. A masterful tribute! You know, it might ease poor Zeno’s feelings somewhat if you put the series in a fittingly tasteful memory plaque on the garage at kitty viewing height…or perhaps on the house wall outside the window. It seems the least you can do. A few tasteful plantings, maybe a small shrubbery…
January 7th, 2007 at 12:28 pm
Hysterical.
January 7th, 2007 at 3:22 pm
I once had a cat who spent so much time underneath cars, and soaked up so much oil, that we decided she was a mechanic.
But that’s not much comfort to Zeno in this moment, I fear.
January 8th, 2007 at 11:22 am
Thank you so much, everyone. We’ve gotten over the shock, I think, and now the healing must begin.
Zeno appreciates your condolences. He’s feeling especially bitter today because it is raining, and without his truck, he has no dry place to hang out outdoors.
January 8th, 2007 at 3:24 pm
Alas! Poor derelict truck, we knew him well! Just wait, Zeno will find some place equally dirty, er, dry in which to hang out.
January 8th, 2007 at 6:30 pm
“of the home” I love it. Condolences to Zeno.