Requiem For a Kitty
Somebody ran over a cat last night in the street in front of my house. I came home from taking the family to dinner and saw something big & dead on our sidewalk. Usually it’s a squirrel that’s been whacked by a car, but this time it was one of the neighborhood cats.
A calico, to be specific. I’d seen her around the backyard a few times, usually harassing my old black cat, but I don’t know who she belonged to. (No license, no collar.) Poor thing had been hit in the head, and either stumbled or tumbled across the parking strip and died on our sidewalk. Horrible way to go, if you ask me.
So here I am, outside at 8:00 PM in 10 degree weather, scooping up a poor dead cat and putting it in a plastic bag. The Lovely Mrs. G. was going to call the local animal control office this morning to find out what to do with it – I don’t suppose they’d appreciate it if we just dropped it in the garbage. The ground is too hard and frozen to bury it, and it certainly is too big to flush. So hopefully they’ll tell us where to take the poor thing.
I’m a incredible softie when it comes to animals – always have been. That’s a big reason why I don’t go hunting. I like animals, and prefer to see them up and walking around instead of their head mounted on a wall. I’m the guy who bawled like a baby when the little squirrel I was nurturing back to health died. And I was almost 30 years old at the time. So any poor creature that meets an early demise (other than Mrs. G’s dreaded millipedes, that is) usually earns my complete sympathy.
We have two cats – Jack, who is somewhere around 12 or 13 years old (I’m not sure – he was a “used” cat when I got him in 1995), and Tasha, who turns 15 in December (her birthday I know). Both are definitely in their Golden Years, and I promise you now – I’ll be a total basket case when either one of them eventually goes to the Big Cat Box in the Sky. They’ve both been my friends, my confidants, and a part of my family for a long time, and life won’t be the same without them. Oh, sure – I can go out and get another pet, and I’m willing to bet that the new cat or dog and I will get along swimmingly. But I’ll still miss my buddies when they’re gone.
My dog Ginger and I were inseparable from the day she literally followed me home (March 21, 1980 – I was 14). She and I did everything together, and she was the most loyal best friend a boy could have. She was 11 when I had to have her put down; she had bad arthritis in her hips, and had a hard time walking. I hated like hell to do it, but it was for the best. I knew it, and I think she did, too. It’s been 14 years since I cried over Ginger’s death, but I still carry a picture of her and I together in my wallet. Friends like that don’t come along every day, you know.
My heart breaks this morning for the kids who owned the cat that died in my yard last night. Somewhere out there you’ll find someone standing at their front door, waiting for their friend to come home for dinner. I hope that I can find them to at least let them know what happened; they deserve the closure.
So people – be kind to your pets. Have them spayed or neutered (Bob Barker will thank you later – trust me on this one!), put a collar around their neck so that they can find their way home if they get lost, and every now and then be sure to tell them how much you love them.
I’m pretty sure they’ll know what you’re saying.
A calico, to be specific. I’d seen her around the backyard a few times, usually harassing my old black cat, but I don’t know who she belonged to. (No license, no collar.) Poor thing had been hit in the head, and either stumbled or tumbled across the parking strip and died on our sidewalk. Horrible way to go, if you ask me.
So here I am, outside at 8:00 PM in 10 degree weather, scooping up a poor dead cat and putting it in a plastic bag. The Lovely Mrs. G. was going to call the local animal control office this morning to find out what to do with it – I don’t suppose they’d appreciate it if we just dropped it in the garbage. The ground is too hard and frozen to bury it, and it certainly is too big to flush. So hopefully they’ll tell us where to take the poor thing.
I’m a incredible softie when it comes to animals – always have been. That’s a big reason why I don’t go hunting. I like animals, and prefer to see them up and walking around instead of their head mounted on a wall. I’m the guy who bawled like a baby when the little squirrel I was nurturing back to health died. And I was almost 30 years old at the time. So any poor creature that meets an early demise (other than Mrs. G’s dreaded millipedes, that is) usually earns my complete sympathy.
We have two cats – Jack, who is somewhere around 12 or 13 years old (I’m not sure – he was a “used” cat when I got him in 1995), and Tasha, who turns 15 in December (her birthday I know). Both are definitely in their Golden Years, and I promise you now – I’ll be a total basket case when either one of them eventually goes to the Big Cat Box in the Sky. They’ve both been my friends, my confidants, and a part of my family for a long time, and life won’t be the same without them. Oh, sure – I can go out and get another pet, and I’m willing to bet that the new cat or dog and I will get along swimmingly. But I’ll still miss my buddies when they’re gone.
My dog Ginger and I were inseparable from the day she literally followed me home (March 21, 1980 – I was 14). She and I did everything together, and she was the most loyal best friend a boy could have. She was 11 when I had to have her put down; she had bad arthritis in her hips, and had a hard time walking. I hated like hell to do it, but it was for the best. I knew it, and I think she did, too. It’s been 14 years since I cried over Ginger’s death, but I still carry a picture of her and I together in my wallet. Friends like that don’t come along every day, you know.
My heart breaks this morning for the kids who owned the cat that died in my yard last night. Somewhere out there you’ll find someone standing at their front door, waiting for their friend to come home for dinner. I hope that I can find them to at least let them know what happened; they deserve the closure.
So people – be kind to your pets. Have them spayed or neutered (Bob Barker will thank you later – trust me on this one!), put a collar around their neck so that they can find their way home if they get lost, and every now and then be sure to tell them how much you love them.
I’m pretty sure they’ll know what you’re saying.
posted by Tommy G at
8:49 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home