Over the long holiday weekend, my cat (pictured above) got run over by a car. As you can probably guess, this has caused him to be quite dead.
Despite the normal feline annoyingness inherent in all cats, he was a good cat, and will be missed a great deal. Not so much the "constantly bringing in live animals" aspect of him, or the "claws severely scratching my legs down to the floor as he falls off my lap" aspect, but more the warm and the purring is what will be missed.
I must say, setting the cat door to 'lock' one last time felt really strange, as does seeing his bowl still full of food, and hearing his water dispenser go "glug glug" every so often, even though there is no longer anyone to drink from it. Seeing the still mud-covered shovel and pair of boots on the porch is rather awkward as well.
I don't look forward to rounding up the thousand or so toy mice scattered under every surface in the house. See, he enjoyed knocking his toys into places he couldn't get them out of, then struggling to get them back out for minutes on end before getting bored. I'd fish a mouse out, only to see him quite deliberately knock it right back under. Last time I chased down a live mouse under chair in the livingroom, I scared the crap out of myself by tipping up the chair and seeing 20 or so mice where there should have been only one. In the split second of fear, my brain didn't have time to realize that 19 or so of those mice were flourescently colored and therefore not real -- I just imagined an Attica scale revolt by the imprisoned mice, with me and the cat as prison guards.
The funny thing is, I'm kind of "in denial" about him being dead. See, every time I hear the wind move the cat door a little, I actually think for a split second "here comes the cat." Upon coming home and hearing the chainlink fence nearby*, I think "here comes the cat." Upon waking up in the middle of the night, hearing meowing and scratching on my bedroom door, I cower in fear under my covers and think "Oh shit, here comes the cat." But then I wake up, feeling relieved that my backyard isn't hiding an indian burial ground.
This most recent dead pet has gotten me thinking about my many, many traumatic pet experiences over the years, and you fine folks get to look forward to hearing some of the stories in the coming week. Maybe telling them will make me feel better.
*: every day (assuming the weather was dry) he would come running and climb over the chainlink fence when I would arrive home from work, making a very distinctive sound.
The author lives in Vancouver, Washington, USA with his girlfriend and a menagerie of cats, rats, fish, birds, guinea pigs and robots.
Among other inanities, he strives to use investigative techniques to work young starlet breasts into every aspect of rational discourse -- focusing on the discourse, thus making it not perverted. Also, has recently begun a career as "Internet hairstylist."
He can be contacted via email and Jabber IM at 'firstname.lastname@example.org'. He likes to be contacted.
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