Beware of Cat

I have a confession to make. A few weeks back I broke into a locked cemetery. Sounds creepy, I know. And I’m not proud of it, but I’m not ashamed of it, either.  Maybe “broke-into” is too harsh a verb, since I broke nothing. I didn’t even touch the locked gate. I simply got down on my hands and knees, cell phone and camera each tucked into their own side of my bra, and carefully fit myself through two lines of barbed wire. Taa-daaa!  I am so not too old to do that.

I live in a part of Oceanside that was once considered the San Luis Rey township – due to the San Luis Rey Mission at the heart of it. The cemetery is called the San Luis Rey Pioneer Cemetery and it was founded around 1869 – something I didn’t know until I was standing at the locked gate.

The mission has it’s own very old cemetery on church grounds, but the Pioneer Cemetery was built as a final resting place for the non-Catholic folks. It sits up on a hill across from the Mission San Luis Rey, where my son attends church. I drive past it at least twice a week and for years I’ve meant to go investigate it but just never got around to it. 

Mission San Luis Rey

So, as you might imagine, if it was so easy for me to sneak in, hosts of others had snuck in before me. Unfortunately, the majority of graves had been vandalized in some way, and the grounds were littered with beer cans and empty bottles, making me wish like crazy that the pioneer ghosts would have risen out of their graves and scared the culprits straight.

As I normally do in cemeteries, I wandered down each row of graves and wondered about all the different lives and connections and experiences represented by the people whose names were on the headstones. It was incredibly sunny and hot that day and my skin felt like it was sizzling. But I took my time, stopping at each family plot and at clusters of plain, uninscribed wooden markers. I did take photos, of course. I don’t know why. It felt like gathering evidence that these long gone people had mattered and left their mark. I wish I could know more about them, but the things I wish I could know are probably long lost and were never written down anywhere other than personal letters, diaries or in the hearts of people who knew and loved them. 

At the rear of graveyard, I found a grave that brought me to tears. It was located just outside the barbed-wire boundary – presumably to be as close to hallowed ground as possible. It was marked with a sign that said “Beware of Cat”. Closer inspection showed a mound of earth, surrounded by rocks, into which the sign posts were shoved. The sign itself had been altered to read “cat” instead of “dog”. Toys and doo-dads were placed around the mound, and somebody had drawn a picture of a lion on the back of a cardboard flyer and stuck that in the ground as well. Further off, but not too far, was a weather-beaten cat bed, like the beds I have for my own cats. There is no doubt in my mind, with all this fanfare strewn about and the effort that was made, that in that grave lay a well-loved and missed cat. Being well-loved is the probably the best testimony of a life well-lived. But eventually, vandals and time will take care of the evidence that this kitty once made a difference in somebody's life. It's just the way things are. Life goes on. So, I'm glad I "broke in". And I'm glad I added this tiny memorial here where it might last longer than a crayon drawing of a lion, done with love... in memory of a well-loved cat.