Feb. 10th, 2009

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Our outdoor cat, Double Agent (aka: Moo-Moo), was struck and killed by a car this evening. I found out when I called to ask if I should pick up dinner; Misty was obviously upset on the phone. I'm a bit sad myself.

I've buried her in the backyard. I dug the hole deep and square, under the harsh glow of a halogen worklight. The Lonicera fragrantissima is in bloom. It's a mild night, so I was sweating and there were lots of little flying insects drawn to the flowers and the light. I felt bad when I threw the first shovel of wet, red clay down on her.

She came to us skin and bones, with a dull coat and pleading eyes. She fattened up nicely, and was so friendly she'd follow me around as I worked outside the house, often sitting on my cars as I turned wrenches and complained to her about sadistic engineers.

We were going to take her to the vet any day now for the past month or so to get her checked out for FIV and ger her shots so we could bring her inside. Funny, really, how "any day now" can become just a day too late so quickly.

We've not told Connor yet. I'm not sure if we're going to. It's only a matter of time before he wonders where Moo-Moo kitty went. It's a tough call; he's at a stage where he is beginning to understand what death is and is a bit obsessed by it. On the other hand he's still young enough that it'll sting badly. I can't lie to him and say that Double-A is in kitty heaven or some bullshit like that. I think the best thing I can do is tell the truth and use it as an object lesson why the road is a dangerous place.

Bye, bye, Double-A. I hardly knew ye. You were a fine cat and a good friend.

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By amhorach at 2009-02-10


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