It's about a cat who, upon receiving a letter from his sweetheart, gets so excited that he jumps off the roof and dies, only to be brought back to life during his funeral procession by the smell of fish.
It's a long song, maybe nine stanzas, and so compelling that when Stella was little, she became obsessed with it as well.
At two and a half, she sung the entire thing to Sandy during our Thanksgiving visit. Sitting with my baby brother as my daughter, the first of the nieces and nephews on our side, serenaded him and his pregnant wife with our favorite childhood song is one of those moments that's forever burned in my mind, a marker of our transition from being the children to becoming the parents. The next generation had arrived, and we were passing it on.
A few years later, as another holiday, Easter, approached, I tried to explain the reason for the celebration to Stella. It went something like this: "there was this remarkable man who spent his life trying to help others and he was killed for his beliefs; on Easter, he rose from the dead."
I could see the wheels turning in her brain....
"Just like Señor Don Gato!" she exclaimed.
Just like him.
+ + +
Today, we celebrated rebirth here in our new life in Montana, down by the stream and out in the field where the cottonwood trees are budding and Chris' pet trout, Wally, is hiding in his little den under the bridge.
Kristi, you are the only other person I know who grew up singing Don Gato. How have we never connected about this? Loved this post! xo, Heather
ReplyDeleteThat explains it all, don't you think? Hope your little solar plexus is doing well, meow meow meow.
Deletexo