A few weeks ago, somewhere between one month leading into the next, one of our neighbors had let us know that they discovered the body of a deceased cat in their yard – presumably having fallen from a tree, with the neck broken on impact.

More or less everyone in the neighborhood knows us as The Cat Owners, and we were the first people they asked.

At first instinct, I was sure that it wasn’t one of our cats. On closer examination, I was less sure – and a few hours later, after I’d counted up the numbers and done the daily roll call, I realized that I was looking at our beloved Lily.

I also realized shortly after that I had nobody to tell about this important life event save for other bridge players. (This might be a clue to the fact that I rarely socialize away from the card table for various reasons.)

Wrapping our dear feline in a scarf that she had loved, I took a walk some steps into the forest and gave her a proper burial: Sat, smoked a cigarette and talked for a few minutes. A couple of our other cats had followed me on the walk and were sitting around us.

What do cats have to do with bridge? If you have any or see cats that frequent your club, you’ll already know the answer.

Cats are familiars, and often silent bridge partners. While I might not always be tempted to speak to the rest of the table during most online bridge games, I spend a lot of the time speaking to the cats – usually while they’re curled up closeby, flicking their tail to say what they think about the next move.

How many bridge players have cat stories (or for that matter, how many cats have bridge player stories)? I’m sure there are many: Possibly more than stories of poker playing pooches.

At the edge of the forest, quiet settled after a few minutes, save for a few crickets and birds. We all took the walk back as the first drops of rain started up.

It was a long few days after that, with the house being quieter than usual and the rest of the cats appearing to observe a time of silence themselves. She had been the loudest and most talkative of them all – and even the birds, bugs and neighborhood monkey troupe would observe the same few-day silence period, as though mourning the same event.

Only on day three, the first of our cats gave a meow again. It was a perfect imitation of what Lily would chirp at the birds in the morning (and with no desire to hunt, but mostly talk to the neighborhood’s bird population).

I left a playing card to mark the spot: Bicycle, and hearts.