Personal Narrative: My Grandma's Funeral

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As I got closer to my family’s area of the cemetery I had finished feeding the little kitten the last of the cat food I saved for him which I broke up into little pieces that he could handle. Then, I watched as his eyes began to close as he drifted off to sleep in my arms from a food coma. When I had reached the top of the hill where my family’s plots lay at its bottom, I started to make my way down the ‘S’ curved dirt trail which led to the gravesites. As the trail made its way around the first of the two enormous willows, I thought I could hear someone speaking from somewhere down near the bottom. Apprehensively, I crept my way further along the trail hoping it wasn’t my mama. Then, when I could see the graves come into view, I…show more content…
Looking just beyond her I saw that my mama was right. That the cemetery people had indeed installed the headstone she had ordered for my Grandma Lyanna’s grave. I could also see lying perched upon it was the black cat I’ve come to know as Midnight. Keeping quiet, I watched as Katelyn held in her hand the pentagram she wore around her neck. She used it to draw an invisible pentagram over the ground that encompassed my grandmother’s grave. She then spoke in that strange tongue I couldn’t understand, but her gestures were much like that of a priest. Like how a clergyman would’ve moved his arms in solemn when he blessed you with the sign of the cross. How did Katelyn know my grandmother? I thought. Were they both witches? Did the pentagram I saw in my house’s basement have the same meaning as the one Katelyn wore around her neck? Did she and my grandmother use the pentagram in their witchcraft as some sort of shrine? Were Katelyn and my grandmother part of the same…show more content…
Midnight still at my feet mewed again and began rubbing herself even more vigorously against my legs while pawing at me. I bent down picking her up and held her opposite the sleeping kitten in my other arm. The rest of the cats stayed behind me still riled up and meowing in an almost perfect harmony. “They’re protecting you,” Katelyn said, giving me that mischievous smile of hers. “They know who you are. They know you’re a Barrett.” “What are you talking about?” I responded dismissively. “They’re just a bunch of stray cats. They live here in the cemetery. The place is probably full of mice. They did the exact same thing to me and my mama and step daddy the last time we were here, too.” “No, they know who you are,” Katelyn reiterated. “They know what blood flows through your veins.” She then turned to nod her head towards my grandmother’s grave. “You still haven’t told me what it is you’re doing down here?” I then asked her trying to put the conversation back on her and not me. “What were you doing to my grandmother’s grave with your blood? What were you
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