Yesterday, I trimmed and tidied the lemongrass in the garden. Today, I find this photograph which puts me in memory of my beautiful, black feline, Brigid, who delighted in lemongrass as opposed to the more mundane catnip or cat grass which I grew for her and her sister.
Well actually, she more than enjoyed it, she revelled in it. It was a sudden change, one day she was happily chewing on cat grass, the next she was all over the lemongrass like a dog who enjoys a dead fish on the beach <phew!>. It became an addiction, if cats have addictions. It became a ceremony.
Every morning I would hear a bleat from her and never having been very vocal all her 14 years it was an amusing thing for me. Out the door, a quick squint in the sunlight, then to check on ‘her’ lemongrass. She would slink around it once, eyeing off the juiciest leaves, then settle down and chew for about five minutes releasing the aromatic oils. The young leaves would drop around the base of the plant. Following said mastication she would lay down, roll and squirm among them for another five. I found the scent arising from all the bruised leaves to be invigorating. I am sure Brigid did too as I could swear she had a smile on her face after engaging in her morning ritual.
Today, like most days, I miss her company. But simple memories bring her back.