Raven diary #43: The funeral pt 2

Dear diary,

Raven here.

When we arrive at the funeral, having watched our fill of SpongeCat SquarePaws episodes, we’re surprised to see hundreds of cats gathered around Lloyd’s grave. I look around and realize we’re not in any fancy cemetery. We’re just in a simple human backyard.

“Wasn’t expecting this,” meows Lollipop. “Why a simple backyard?”

“Shhhhhhh,” someone meows next to us in a whisper. “It’s starting.”

“I like whispering too,” a cat whispers loudly in the back. Many in the crowd laugh.

“Alright, alright everyone. Settle down,” says a dark brown cat, walking up to the podium. “As you all know, my name is Glenn Purrly, and we have gathered here today to mourn the death of Lloyd Baxter. Lloyd lived to 17 years old, and he lived a good long life. He was born and raised in a pound, in a room all by himself. He never liked other cats. I remember when I tried to visit him in the pound. The minute I walked in, he hissed and arched his back at me. I just walked out of there to go visit another cat. But let’s not dwell on Lloyd’s bad qualities. Would anyone like to make a toast?”

Half the crowd raised a paw, including me.

“I see we have lots of volunteers,” says Glenn. “How about we start with Raven Hanson.”

“Thank you sir,” I meow. I stand up to deliver my toast. “When Lloyd was 6 months old, just a kitten, he was adopted by a human family, and almost instantly became my pen pal. Every letter he sent me had at least one totally made up word. He was so funny. Anyone know what it means to be fleeberdoodie?”

A few paws raised.

“It means very energetic,” said a middle aged cat who must’ve been Lloyd’s mom. “He called us that all the time.”

“Exactly,” I meow. “He sent me letters up until his death, and even in his last letter to me, he put a made up word in there. He was so funny and so committed to his bit. And that’s why we should all think of Lloyd this holiday season. To Lloyd.” I raise my glass of catnip.

“TO LLOYD!!!!!!!!!!!!” everyone shouts, raising their own glasses of catnip.

I sit back down. Glenn sits back up, crying.

“Raven,” he meows through the tears. “That was so moving. Thank you.”

All of a sudden, we hear a yap yap yapping in the distance. We all yowl as a small white dog emerges. A few cats even try to run away, but Glenn holds them back.

“QUIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Glenn yowls, quieting us down.. “Something in my feline bones tells me this dog isn’t here to cause harm. Is that right, canine?”

“Yes sir,” the dog barks. “My name’s Jack and I was a good friend of Lloyd’s when he was in the pound.”

“We’re listening,” says Honeytoast.

Jack steps forward. “When I arrived at the pound and met Lloyd, we hated each other. We would claw and bite and growl until the workers had to separate us. But at least three months into our stay, Lloyd started growing on me, and eventually we became best friends. We would play with string and balls they gave us in the pound. But when we both got adopted by different humans, our friendship just suddenly stopped. We talked to each other over FacePet, but it just wasn’t the same. I did get to see Lloyd chase crows and cuddle with his humans, but it wasn’t like being right there with him, talking about smelly, sweaty t-shirts and the latest gossip in Cat Dog Weekly. The pound was the last time I saw Lloyd in person before he passed away. It’s just so sad. But Lloyd’s life taught us that canines and felines don’t have to live apart and that even the greatest of us pass away. So lets all raise a glass to Lloyd on this day. TO LLOYD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“TO LLOYD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”