Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!

I had a dark grey cat named Ashes. He and his brother, an orange tabby, were the only two in Precious Angel Kitty's first litter, born in 1988. My mom came up with the name Ember for the orange tabby, and although in retrospect we should have perhaps gone with Ask og Embla, we instead went with Ember and Ashes. Thereafter I had many occasion to explain their names; apparently an awful lot of people are not familiar with the workings of a fire, that it produces both glowing embers and floating ashes.

Poor Ashes died of a jaw infection when he was 13. It was pretty terrible. I had noticed swelling in his face, but then it seemed to go away. About a year later, his teeth started falling out. When a chunk of his jaw came out in the food dish, I knew it was time to put him to sleep.

Funny thing was he was purring and affectionate all the way up to the last day, even though he must have been really sick and in a lot of pain.

His brother Ember had diabetes by this time, and I tell you, I did everything I could to keep Ember alive as long as possible, insulin injections, saline solution injections, a surgery, special diet, emergency room stays, just everything. He finally had a stroke and collapsed just a few months before my son Palmer was born.

Once or twice I have mentioned to Palmer that he could be Ember, reincarnated.

For the last few days, the ash from Eyjafjallajökull, that is to say the ash that accumulated around the volcano over the last few weeks, has been swept up by the wind and is being redistributed around Iceland.

Ashes reincarnated.

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