Ms Cat is dead. She was run over, apparently right outside this house in which I’ve been all fucking day, some time between A feeding her this morning and a lady from up the street calling at the house to alert me to her death this evening. The driver – I presume it was him or her – had left her in a blood-stained bag at the side of the road. Her neck has been broken, and her poor fur is covered in dirt from the tyre running over her. Her little legs are rigidly sitting curled under her tummy.
So very often the term ‘at peace’ is used to describe corpses. Usually human, admittedly, but not always. I certainly can’t and won’t use it in this case. She doesn’t look at peace. She looks unnatural and broken. She looks dead, because she is fucking dead.
I fucking hate this fucking cunting bastard shithole of a universe. We live in such a safe area, traffic-wise. Cats around here live beyond normal life expectancy; I’ve never even heard of a local cat having got run over before. And yet this poor innocent little thing, poor little baby cat whose only crime was purring too loudly, suffered this cruel, malignant twist of fate and died a twisted mess.
We think it was quick, though, which is something. And she lived a happy life with us, sitting on our knees purring most of the time or sometimes headbutting our feet – even if it was only for three short years.
I just can’t believe this has happened. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t upset – I am, very much so – but I’m also just stunned. No way, I thought when the woman came to the door. It can’t be our Ms Cat. Even though I know she’s dead, I’m kind of perplexed as to why she’s not sitting on the windowsill, waving at me to get in (one of my favourite of her little quirks). When I awake in the morning (a statement that makes the probably false assumption that I will actually fucking sleep tonight), my first thought will be a query as to why she’s not lying beside me, or on one of her favourite spots near the bed, softly purring away.
Stunned. Number than I would ever have expected to be.
I always knew this day would come, when we’d have to deal with one (and eventually both) of their deaths. I just didn’t realise it would be so soon, and in such sudden circumstances.
Poor Mr Cat. He seems to know something is wrong – and if he doesn’t, he will soon, when he realises his sister has been absent for several days. I remember a former colleague of mine describing how, when one of her cats disappeared, his sister sat at the front door mewing pathetically for him for several weeks. I hope Mr Cat’s grief isn’t as painful as that.
And yeah, I’m sure there will be naysayers reading this post thinking, “but it’s just a fucking cat.” Well, she wasn’t just a fucking cat. She was a friend, a little bundle of comfort, someone who kept me company on days when I couldn’t get out of bed, never mind the house, a loving little thing that cared without condition.
I made a return to Twitter this afternoon, after not having checked it for weeks. Then this happened. So don’t be surprised if you don’t see me there, or here, or anywhere else, for some time.
RIP baby girl. x