We had a harrowing weekend. Our cat was murdered. Brutally. By a dog.
We don’t adopt animals casually. I might, but Ricky doesn’t. We’d had a little peek-a-poo for nearly 14 years and when she drowned in our pool three months after my mother died in 1999, we were devastated. Thought we’d never get over it and vowed never have another pet. But not quite a year later a yellow tabby cat started hanging around the house. Ricky was adamant. We were not keeping him. He belonged to someone. Blah, blah, blah. I asked around and no one claimed him. One neighbor said he was coming around eating her cats’ food and she’d started feeding them inside so he couldn’t get to it. She said she thought he was wormy. I’ll never forget that. It actually hurt my feelings.
He got in a bad fight and needed medical attention. Since no one claimed him, I took him to the vet and he officially became ours. Ricky named him Buster. But “he’s not coming in the house!” Yeah, right. He came and went as he pleased. I’d have kept him in the house all the time to keep him away from all the outside dangers, but he’d have been miserable and we’d have been miserable trying to keep him in.
The vet said he wasn’t quite a year old when he came to us. Through the years there were other fights even though he was neutered. I always blamed the bully cats in the neighborhood. Once they were gone, the fights were few and far between.
He’d had a rough early life. There was a little nick from the tip of one ear and the skin on one of his back toenails was loose. He’d had to fend for himself, eating whatever he could catch or find. So we made life a lot better for him. I’d scold him when he so proudly brought me a poor, dead chipmunk and plopped it down to bleed on my den carpet.
The last couple of weeks he was especially loving toward me. Every night he’d snuggle with me on the sofa. I wondered more than once if something was about to happen and he sensed it. Too, my stomach was in knots for about two weeks. Just a general apprehension.
Friday night he was on top of my car about 5:30-6:00. We went to Wal-Mart around 6:30 or so. When we came back he wasn’t there to meet us and he was always around when we brought bags in from the store. He always wanted to know if we got him some new snacks. We had this time, but he didn’t show up. We called and called. Shook his food bag. That would usually get his attention. Still no Buster. His friend who we call “Gray Kitty” came up to us. Now, Gray Kitty never let us get close to him. If we walked out, he’d run away. But this night, he kept rather close. Coming up to the back door, getting close under the carport when I was there calling and even running to the front porch when I called out there. I even wondered if he was trying to tell us something.
I dozed off and on through the night, getting maybe a total of 3 hours of sleep. It was so unlike him to stay out all night with it cold. Spring or summer maybe, but not in the cold. I kept hoping he’d gone in someone’s outbuilding when they weren’t looking and they’d locked him up inside. Morning came and I walked the neighborhood. No sign. I decided to walk the back yard better and there he was. Apparently he was attacked and able to get away to run to the back yard. It’s fenced, but there’s a spot he can crawl under. He must have run until he collapsed. Probably in shock.
Of course I play the whole thing, start to finish, over and over in my mind, but I honestly don’t think there was anything we could have done. Even if we were home and heard the commotion, we’d have had to watch him die. To reach a vet after hours like that, and move him, it would not have gone well. He might have been in the house if we were home, but I doubt it.
I miss him so much. My heart is so heavy. Tears so near the surface.
I considered not writing this. I can’t handle Rainbow Bridge stuff or gushy condolences. But it does seem to help the healing by talking about it. I do know our animals have spirits or maybe souls. Our Buffy proved that to us when my parents’ dog, and her friend, Cutie died. Buffy, who was nearly blind, saw Cutie’s spirit and even ran and played with her for a few minutes. There’s no doubt in my mind. We watched that and were amazed. And we know that in Heaven the lion will lay with the lamb. So I don’t believe animals just die. Perhaps their spirits are recycled. Buster had a lot of Buffy’s personality traits and would have been born around the time Buffy died. That was something I wondered about. How and why he picked us, where he came from…
Part of me wants a kitty to snuggle with right now. And never let it out of the house. The other part of me never wants to open myself up for that hurt again. Ricky is adamant – again. No more pets. He’s just as devastated. We’ll see.
