Bag of Bones.
More like bowl. A nice bowl, of course. A vintage white enamel one, specifically. They are my preferred style of kitchen ware. Light, tinsley, and most importantly they harken back to a different time where we cooked our meals over fireplaces (inside or out) and lit our homes with candles and lanterns. So it only made sense to use one for his bones. He wasn't my favorite when he died, and this wasn't even my plan initially- to keep his bones- but when the time came it all just seemed to make sense. It still makes sense. I think of him and think, "Yeah, it's appropriate that your skull is on the kitchen sill behind my sink." It's our cat. ONE of our cats I should say. I clarify this only to show that he wasn't our one and only cat and I've already stated that he wasn't my favorite. But he was the one that both my husband and I came to an understanding with. The understanding with my husband was: You are cat; you give me what I want and I will ...