Cat Remains Are Found

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) 

Lucille Gang Shulklapper is a workshop leader for the Council for Florida Libraries and The Center for the Book.  Her fiction and poetry appear in publications such as The Art Times Pocket Prose#1, Atrocity: Sig Mensa of the Absurd, and Slant.  Her first book of poems, What You Cannot Have, is forthcoming from Flarestack Publishing. 

Cat Remains are Found consists of couplets.