I'm Shira Erlichman and this is the slowdown.

I'll admit it here.

We weren't supposed to bury our cat in that private park.

Even if it was for all intense and purposes just the woods.

Even if we were entirely careful, very hygienic.

But grief makes you do weird things.

I don't think Cory or my girlfriend or I were thinking with the utmost clarity.

Though the cat belonged to my girlfriend and me, the box stayed in our friend Cory's hands.

Our earthy, compassionate, and nature extraordinaire Cory was there for moral support.

It had only been days since our cat, Motech, got sick suddenly,

went through a round of various expensive surgeries than died.

We'd only had him for two months.

But what is the heart note of time when it comes to love?

He would sleep wrapped around my head like a slipped halo.

He would bat my hands away from the keyboard when I was answering emails,

fully conscious that I could be paying attention to him and letting me know so.

As we walked deeper into the woods, there were five of us beating the grief trail.

Cory, Motech, my girlfriend, me, and silence itself.

Silence was a palpable body, our fifth companion.

When we reached the right patch of earth according to Cory, the ceremony began.

My girlfriend's mom being a cantor.

They conjured an old Jewish prayer from memory and sang it.

...