by Reverend Judith Laxer
I made a pact with my cat Wanda when she was about 3 or 4 years old. She was resting her head in the palm of my left hand, while I petted her from the tip of her nose to the back of her ruff. Bliss was on her face and probably mine too.
My landscaping friend Michael had recently given me a cat skull he had unearthed. He knew I would appreciate such a thing, and as I ran my hand over Wanda’s head, I mentally asked her, “Can I have your skull when you die?” And clear as day, I heard her reply, “Yes!”
It was as clear as another answer she had given me the day we met. At a summer barbecue, the hostess mentioned that there was an abandoned litter of kittens in her neighbors’ yard. I went to look for them and saw several small faces peering back at me from the beneath the brush but they stayed out of reach. Later in the day, the neighbor came over holding a small black ball of fluff which she placed in my hand. The kitten was tiny, with a big mane surrounding her jet black face, making her look regal. “What’s your name?” I asked her and as clear as if she spoke the word out loud, she answered, “Wanda!”
Wanda was very sensuous, ultra feminine, and a true creature of habit. She was a Taurus and she was a lover. She grew to a good size all the while remaining dainty. When she got older, one fang seemed to grow longer and rested outside of her mouth. We used to rub it for good luck.
Wanda lived 16 years and four months. We gave her the cushiest life and she gave us endless joy. When the end came, we didn’t let her suffer one little bit. We hired a vet to come to our home and euthanize her and we buried her under the apple tree in our back yard. On top of her grave, I placed a stepping stone with a waning moon on it and around that a circle of stones to represent the Wheel of the Year, along with an old deer skull a friend had given me long ago. It was very Georgia O’Keefe.
My agreement with Wanda made a great story. I told it to those closest to me, those who knew and understood me. I told my Mystery School students about it while showing them the cat skull Michael gave me and describing it as something one might use on their altar representing the direction of north. I got to be that cool and eccentric woman who did such things as form a contract with her familiar for after its death.
But in truth, I shied away from what it actually meant. It wasn’t until I placed her in her grave that the impact of what I would have to do actually hit me. I’d have to dig up my dead cat! I’d have to face the macabre reality of flesh and bones. I’d have to actually get out the same shovel that I used to dig her grave and dig it up again!
My friend Margaret and I had both been apprentices in the Wise Woman tradition on a small urban farm. We learned about plants and medicine making and our relationship to the cycles of life. On the last weekend of this nine month journey, we each learned how to give death to an animal that lived on the farm. We then cleaned and prepared and cooked the chickens and rabbits for the final feast. Since Margaret and I had gone through the experience of giving death together, I asked her if she would help me recover Wanda’s skull and she agreed.
And then, 13 months after Wanda’s death, I had a dream. I was driving on a long road that turned into a steep winding trail that morphed into me riding a bike up, up, up until I was climbing to the top of a very tall tree and looked out on a huge vista and the river that rolled across the horizon. When I looked down, I spied a friend, pregnant now, chasing a crying child. She looked up, saw me and called, “Judith! We are about to take a family photo! Come down and join us!”
‘No, no!” I called back. “I don’t want to!” As I scrambled down the tree to the parking lot and approached my car, there was Wanda scratching at the Autumn leaves. I opened the back door of my car and she jumped in. I shut it and then opened the front door and sat in the driver’s seat as she jumped from the back to the front passenger side. I began to pet her. I could feel her fur, her wet nose and under my hand, the feel of her skull, her skull, her skull…
I woke up with those words echoing in mine. It was 6 a.m. on a Sunday morning a week after Samhain. I knew: Wanda had come to tell me it’s time. I called Margaret and told her about the dream. We agreed to meet the next afternoon.
Once we set the date and time, I found myself stepping out of story and into reality. This was really going to happen! From there, I moved directly into an altered state, which consisted of feeling like a part of me was floating up above my right shoulder observing my every move. It was either very shamanic or schizophrenic, I am not sure which.
An hour and a half before Margaret was going to arrive, I went out to Wanda’s grave with a rake, shovel and wheel barrow. I offered a prayer to Hecate and then started to sing, ‘Return again, return again, return to the land of your soul!’ as the rake scratched at the Autumn leaves.
When the gravesite was cleared, I removed the deer skull and put it aside. Then, moving widdershins, I removed each of the Sabbat stones widdershins and set them aside. Finally I lifted the stepping stone that had rested undisturbed for 13 moons, and watched the worm I had disturbed burrow its way back into the dark soil.
As I waited for Margaret, I puttered around the garden; clipping, trimming, pruning, pulling the dead bean vines off the trellis, deadheading the dianthus, killing time. When Margaret arrived, we set to work.
I watched my foot push the shovel into the hard packed soil. Shovelful by shovelful, I removed the dirt and placed it in the wheelbarrow. I remembered I had buried Wanda exactly 2 feet deep, placing her body curled up in the fetal position, into the cool, brown body of Mother Earth.
Soon Margaret said we should probably get the yard stick and see how deep we were. I ran to get it, grateful to retreat for a moment. It turned out that we were at one foot, and Margaret took over the shovel now and began to dig a wider hole.
We hit something hard with the shovel, and everything stopped. But it was only a rock. We sighed with relief. “I don’t know if I can go through with this.” I said shakily. ‘Well, lets just dig a little more” Margaret said. I nodded in agreement. Next, we came upon something long and thin. ‘What’s that?” She asked, as she reached down and picked it up. But it was only a thick root that peeled apart like paper. At a foot and a half, we switched to the small hand trowel.
Then, as I dug gingerly, I came upon a bone. No false alarm this time; it really was a bone. As I knelt there looking at it, it occurred to me that although it was soil covered, it was clean of fur and flesh. Wanda had been right: this was the right time. I put her leg bone beside the deer skull and Margaret and I looked at one another. We were close.
The next thing we encountered looked like a lump of dirt. “What’s that?” I asked. “I think it’s her skull!” I gasped. Margaret asked if I could get some water and once more I ran inside, this time to fill the watering can and lug it back. As we poured the water over the lump of dirt, we saw the outlines of the skull appear.
I thought we would come upon it on its side which is how I had placed her in her grave. The thought that she had moved under ground made my stomach lurch. (Later, I learned that as the flesh decomposes, the bones settle. Most animal skeletons are found in the prone position, regardless of what position they are in when they die.)
Margaret began to loosen the soil around the treasure with her fingers. Very gently, she lifted Wanda’s skull from its bed, a true gift from the earth. The two jaw bones easily dropped from it, along with the one lucky fang. Then Margaret turned it around and placed it in my hand so I was the one to first look upon her skeletal face. What a sight! For a split second, I thought I saw her complete face again, jet back fur and amber eyes, but then it was gone and I was looking at Wanda’s gorgeous skull. “Hello!” I whispered to the bones, my eyes resting on the inverted triangle that once was her nose.
I am glad that I’d had already seen a cat skull; the orbital bones for the eyes are huge in comparison to the rest of the skull, and would have frightened me out of my wits if I hadn’t been prepared. We picked up the two jaw bones with teeth intact and I got the loose fang. “I can glue this one back in,” I thought wildly.
We poured two more cans of water over the skull and used an old toothbrush to loosen the dirt. The skull was packed with soil; it seemed it would never come clean. Wanda had been a long haired cat and we often commented on how big her head was. But now as I held her skull in my hands, it was so small.
It was over. I had her. Our contract, from agreement to notice to deed, was fulfilled.
I looked at Margaret, tears streaming. “I am eternally in your debt.” I said. “I could never have done this without you, Margaret, thank you!”
A soft rain began to fall. I hadn’t previously thought past the exhumation: in my mind, the story always ended when I held her skull in my hand. I put her leg bone back into the grave, and Margaret lifted the end of the wheelbarrow as I directed all the soil back over her remains. When it was smoothed over, I dropped the stepping stone back down, and put the deer skull upon it again. The rain began to fall in earnest, a fitting end to the days work.
I placed Wanda’s skull, jaw bones and tooth onto a clean black plate I had used in ritual. I brought her inside the house again. “Welcome home.” I said to her as I placed her on my altar. Now her ritual life begins.
Rev. Judith Laxer treasures her profession as a Psychic, Spiritual Counselor, Hypnotherapist, Shamanic Practitioner and ritualist. She is the founding Priestessof Gaia’s Temple offering Goddess Worship Services in Seattle where everyone is welcome. Judith authored the not yet published book of eight fictional stories to accompany the Sabbats on the Wheel of the Year, entitled “Along the Wheel of Time”. Contact her through www.gaiastemple.org or www.judithlaxer.com
A longer version of this piece was published in Witches and Pagans Magazine, Issue #20.
