Opinion Blossom's funeral By Jennifer Matsui	フレームで見る  英文をプリントする  脚注をプリントする
愛猫・ブロッサムの葬儀で思ったこと 昨年暮れ、愛猫を事故で失った筆者は、 家族であることの価値や意味、そして無償の愛を 彼から教えてもらったという。

A few weeks have passed since my beloved cat Blossom was hit by a car and killed. The circumstances surrounding his sudden death are still too painful to recall. Upon discovering his body on the pavement outside my building, I could only pull myself together long enough to call my good friend and neighbor, Hiroko, who arrived moments later with her friend, Nori.

I had met the two women just over a year ago, when I had taken Blossom to the park near our house for a few minutes of fresh air. We struck up a friendly conversation, and I learned that Hiroko was the neighborhood animal advocate. For almost 20 years, she has been feeding the stray cats who live in the area, attending to their illnesses, and even paying to have them spayed or neutered out of her own pocket.

From that moment on, Hiroko, Nori and I became good friends. It was only natural for me to call them first when Blossom died. Within minutes, they collected and cleaned his body and had him placed in a makeshift cardboard coffin.

About an hour later, the four of us (my husband, Hiroko, Nori and I) drove to a nearby pet temple where his funeral was to take place. Never having attended a pet funeral, I wasn't sure what to expect, but the facility was really no different than a regular funeral home.

We were greeted by formally dressed attendants, who ushered us into a private viewing room where we could say the first of several goodbyes to the deceased. About half an hour later, he was discreetly transferred into a white, flower-filled coffin and we were joined by the temple priest who performed the ritual chants.

After the ceremony, we all filed into the basement crematorium and watched as his body made its final journey into the waiting furnace. We were then led into another waiting room by a black-suited attendant, and as we made our way there through the temple cemetery, we were accompanied by several cats. Two of them had been waiting for us outside the door of the crematorium, and my heart gave a quick jump because they so closely resembled Blossom and our remaining cat, Petal.

About half an hour later, we were led back to the crematorium where Blossom's bones and ashes were laid out on a marble slab. The attendant explained to us which bones were which and transferred them into a metal tray where we carefully picked them up with long chopsticks and placed them in a tiny urn. He completed the task for us by adding the remaining ashes and they were later presented to us in a silk brocade box.

The entire process took about two hours. Most people would probably think the ¥60,000 price tag excessive and unnecessary. He was, after all, "only a cat." But I beg to differ. In his all too brief life, Blossom taught me the value and meaning of "family," community, and unconditional love. It was a lesson I paid for dearly in every sense of the term. (515 words)