Things like this probably happen all the time and always quite
quickly. Afterwards, when things were calmer, I said, “Wow, that happened
really fast.” As if some slow motion camera trick should have made it move a
little slower to better understand it all.
Why did the cat cross the road? Don’t really know but it ended
crushed under a brown sedan in an arc of twists and spastic convulsions right
in front of our driveway. The thing jumped about in demon possessed fits,
bouncing like a fish gasping for air, one of its eyes had become detached and
it too bounced with its own squishy squashy sounds on the pavement.
The culprit, a late model sedan, kept on driving on down the
street; it was out of sight by the time Gisele pulled over and we got out of
the car. She was all maternal and hormonal because of the baby inside her and
she drew out a teary wet wail; she opened the doors of whatever afterlife that
thing had in store with her own feelings of loss and grief. I wasn’t as touched
by the moment as I was awed by the event.
As its impulses and nerve endings began to give up so did the
convulsive hysteria and it settled into meandering twitching until finally
nothing. It’s deflated eyeball still attached by bloody sinewy tendrils to its
skull. I just stood there, bearing witness to its closing ceremony.
Gisele ran inside to get Benny in hopes that he could offer some
advice and possible consolation; he’s the clear-headed one in these types of
situations.
I recognized the now dead carcass in front of me. It was less
than a year old and its mother was a regular at our doorstep. I’m sure it and
all its siblings were born under the house. The matron feline now watched as
one of her offspring passed away, perched on the ledge of the flower bed, like
an Egyptian statue made of dark stone, her eyes wide and fixed on her child.
Benny came out and looked at the pitiful object now lying before
him. Gisele noticed the mother watching and attempted to console her for her
loss. It ran, not knowing enough of the human need for closure and compassion.
We all agreed that it deserved a proper burial, even though we couldn’t dig up
a hole and drop it in. The land was rented and wasn’t ours to do with as we
pleased. Instead the county animal control would be called in the morning to
come and retrieve it. I mentioned that with any luck they could send a truck
out here sometime before the dead thing begins to compost and we’d be left with
the skeletal remains before bureaucracy’s wheel started moving. Benny agreed
but felt it would be the right thing to do, Gisele mentioned that she would
make sure it would get done, even if she had to call them a few dozen times.
Later that night, I could hear the other strays mawling and
meowing while I lay in bed. I imagined that they were mourning the loss of one
of their own; somehow it made the whole event more appropriate thinking that.
Looking out the window I noticed some of them fighting and growling, a few of
the more dominate and aggressive males had taken to feeding on the dead; desperate
times. The ones eating of the flesh were older, their fur matted with filth and
missing in some areas, mangier than the rest that usually stay near the houses;
tomcats that probably came from the other side of the park or from somewhere
else entirely. Some of the local strays were fighting for territory and
privilege and the bigger toms were attempting to keep them back and winning.
The dangling eyeball had already been consumed and one of the cannibals was
burrowing into the skull through the opening.
The sound of war continued and was getting fiercer. Something
had to be done if I was going to get some sleep; I threw on some shoes and
grabbed a large black trash bag. As I stepped out the door many of the cats
fled, except the few braver ones and the two intruders, approaching the carcass
the remainder of the group fled except the one tom that had been fighting for
his right to eat. The concept of being stared down by a flea bitten cat is one
of those things you don’t expect to happen in our day-to-day lives. He began
growling and poised itself for attack, a medium sized stone to the head sent it
scurrying.
Using
the plastic as a shield I grabbed the body and was able to pull the bag around
it, lifting it up properly. With a quick walk across the empty lot in front of
the house I was at the fence to the yard crew’s facility; a large blue dumpster
was on the other side. One full arm swing and the bag and partially eaten cat
landed with an echoing boom. Walking back the matron feline was at her perch,
watching me with eyes the color of mourning.
