I don’t quite know how to begin this, except with tears in my eyes.
A few years ago, we
started to see a black and white cat in our neighborhood. He was rather large,
with poofy fur and a rather arrogant gaze. He didn’t have a collar or tag, so
we never knew whose cat he was. He never seemed afraid or happy or much besides
regal. He seemed to believe he owned the neighborhood, posing like a statue in
various front yards.
Our yard was one of the
yards he chose. I don’t know why. I wasn’t particularly welcoming, especially
whenever I caught him anywhere near my birdfeeders in the back yard. He would
position himself there as if waiting for a snack. I would chase him away. For a
large cat, he got over the six-foot fence in a flash, each time with a rather
accusing glare.
I decided to follow my
usual rule, though: cats are not allowed in the back yard, but I will not
disturb them if they’re in the front. He didn’t seem to understand about the
back yard, but he certainly took advantage of the front yard, posing on the
front sidewalk as if challenging me. Several times he took a nap between the
front bushes, a curled-up ball of fur among a bed of leaves. Those were the
only times he looked happy.
He also liked to position
himself on the front splash block (I had to look that up), at the base of a
gutter downspout on the garage, looking like the sphinx as he surveyed the
surroundings. He’d be there when I came home, watching me as I pulled the car
into the driveway, eyeing the garage door as it swung upward. I was always
worried that he’d try to get into the garage, but he never did. The first time
it happened, he was startled by the garage door’s sudden movement, but after
that first time, he didn’t react at all, as if to show me how enlightened he
was.
If we came home from the
store and he was anywhere near the car, he’d watch me as I got out. His eyes
would narrow, but he wouldn’t move. It was as if he knew I could be mean, but
somehow I wasn’t going to be at that particular time.
If only he and I had
known …
I came home from work at
5:00 on Friday. The forecast said it would be cold overnight so I went outside
to put down some bird seed. When I got out there, I saw the cat under the
birdfeeder again. It had been a long, hard week at work (which isn’t an
excuse), so I overreacted. I tried to shoo him but he just looked at me with
his narrow eyes. I thought he’d finally decided to challenge me, so I grabbed
the hose. Of course the hose wouldn’t work, which only enraged me more. I ran
inside, filled a milk jug with water and ran outside to splash him with it.
This time he tried to get
away. It was with a jolt of horror that I saw him pulling himself forward with
his front paws, while his back legs dragged uselessly behind him. Something
terrible had happened and he was badly hurt.
I dropped the jug, knelt
down and said, “Oh, sweetie! I’m so sorry. It’s going to be okay.”
He nestled into the
leaves and gave one soft meow, which even now breaks my heart into little
shards of glass.
I bolted into the house
and there followed a series of frantic phone calls. The one veterinary office
still open didn’t have anyone available other than a sympathetic receptionist. The
other clinics were closed. The police said they couldn’t do anything for a cat.
The humane society was closed. Etc.
Finally, my husband
called our next-door neighbor, who owns cats. He came over, assessed the
situation and went to get a cat carrier. I got thick gloves because I’ve
handled an injured pet before, but the neighbor was able to crawl into the
bushes and simply lift the cat up, depositing it gently in the carrier. I was
amazed that the cat was so calm. I wanted to do something more, but there
wasn’t anything I could do as he took the carrier back to his house.
Later we received an
email: the cat was so badly injured that they had to put him down. We’d thought
he had been hit by a car, but he apparently had a BB pellet near his spine.
Surgery would have been difficult and expensive.
And now I’m crying again.
Much of it is guilt: I splashed
water on the poor animal! Much of it is rage that a cat would have to suffer so
much. And perhaps most of it is grief. I’d started to like the cat, despite my
grumbling about him, despite my chasing him from the back yard to protect the
birds. I remember him sleeping peacefully in the bushes. I remember him almost
seeming to wait for me to get home. I remember how beautiful his fur was. I
remember his soft meow, which I now interpret not as a warning or rebuke, but
more a sigh, a comment that he was tired and hurting and he just couldn’t do
what I wanted.
I’m sorry, cat. I should
have done better. I should have let you know that not all people are horrible,
but I only reinforced it instead. I don’t feel I have the right to ask for your
forgiveness.
At least now you don’t
have to feel it anymore.
Please, please rest in
peace.
