When my father died, I was a child.  We 
sold the house, the old car that he loved, 

left the rake and the hose in the garage. 
The attic was clean.  I think. 

Today, I read about a woman who 
discovered one-hundred-thirty-three 

dusty boxes in the attic of a house she inherited 
from her dead uncle.  Each box contained the 

remains of a cat, wrapped in newspapers, dating from 
fifty years ago.  Her uncle, a journalist, wrote a 

pet column, and had dozens of cats.  City health officials, 
(They wore protective clothing and latex gloves) 

removed the stacked boxes and cremated the remains.  I 
know a man who discovered his parents were not married 

when he was born.  After their death, he found their marriage 
certificate in a trunk in the attic 

and understood why he had never been loved.  His hands, 
covered with dust and ashes, felt like 

a separate part of him, the part that remained. 
 
 

Copyright 2001,  Lucille Gang Shulklapper 
(first  appeared in Buffalo Bones Spring 98 Vol IV no 2) 

Cat Remains are Found consists of couplets.