Somebody is walking on my grave

My husband, Larry, and I have been fortunate to have been able to do some traveling.  We’ve been to England a couple of times, to the Netherlands; we’ve walked the Champs Elysees and looked over Paris from the Eiffel Tower.   I have some wonderful memories of trips we’ve taken.

To say I am a frustrated photographer would be an understatement.   I imagine I’ve taken about a gazillion pictures in my time.  Now that you don’t have to wait to have them developed and pay to throw three quarters of them away, I like it even more.

Two of my gazillion pictures stand out because they are unusual and they were taken on two different continents.

One of my favorite places to visit as we travel is the local graveyard.   Every culture treats death differently, and every tomb or stone or slab is a mini history lesson.  I’ve traipsed through graveyards all over the world.

We were in Paris, staying in a hotel that had a wonderful view from rooms that were not much larger than a telephone booth.  Needless to say we saw a lot of Paris just to stay out of that room.

In our wandering around we discovered that a block from the hotel there was a huge cemetery, right in the center of Paris.  We strolled through it, admiring the tombs and monuments and commenting on how different this site was from the American counterparts.

As we walked and talked I noticed over in a shady corner, stretched out on a big stone slab in the only shaft of sunlight in that whole area, was a large black cat.  The tomb resembled a four poster bed of stone, and although it may have been macabre I found it intriguing, so I snapped the picture.   The cat bounded away and I wasn’t certain I’d gotten the shot.   Since I was using film, I had to wait until we got back to the States and developed the film to see that it was a very good shot.   Well….if you appreciate graveyards it was a very good shot.

Several years later we were in New Orleans.  We took the trolley to the Garden District so we could walk through Lafayette Cemetery.  New Orleans is famous for ghost stories, Voo Doo princesses, and folk lore.  I didn’t want to miss this notorious cemetery…

Walking through the beautiful Garden District we admired the stately old homes, the riot of colorful flowers, and then we came to the cemetery surrounded by, what appeared to be, an ancient stone wall.   We found the entrance and as we walked through the big Iron Gate Larry quipped, “Would you like me to conjure up another black cat for you?”   I laughed as we rounded a corner and viola’……there it was.   Another big, black cat was lazing in the sun on a crypt.   He didn’t seem to pay much attention to us as I took several photos, but when I finished, the cat got up from his resting place and came directly to me.  He stayed right by my side as we walked through the rest of the cemetery, rubbing against me and twining himself through my legs as if in appreciation for having his picture taken.  Finally I sat on a bench in the sunshine, stroking him and talking to him as he looked me straight in the eye without any shyness at all.

We stayed longer than we had planned walking around the small cemetery a couple of times just because the black cat seemed to enjoy having some company.  As we exited he walked us to the gate, where he stopped as if he’d been trained not to leave the place.  He turned and walked back into the labyrinth of crypts and stones as we walked down the street.

Later that day we recounted meeting the black cat in the cemetery to the desk clerk at the hotel. "Oh, that's Tom.  He's like the tour guide there, been around since anyone can remember,"  he said.

The black cat pictures are matted and framed and they hang in our hallway.  They're my two favorite travel photos, and I have to admit that every time we travel, every time we stroll through a graveyard, we both have our eyes peeled for another black cat on a grave.   I guess you could say it's become our unusual vacation tradition........life is good.