Yesterday, was a rough day. Trying emotionally. And it took a sharp nosedive when I got home from work. As I walked up on the porch, my mom greeted me with a sad face and said she had bad news. My eyes darted up my daughter, who was sobbing. It seems our cat, Butters, had gotten hit by a car and didn’t survive. I looked down on the chair as I made my way up to the porch and she was lying there, a towel over her face, and it was a bloody scene. Immediately, I went into shock. I couldn’t feel, I couldn’t process what was happening.
The street had a big mark, reminiscent of a crime scene. So, I gathered her up into a box, took a quick look at her face (wish I didn’t), and all of us went to the vet with her for the last visit she’d ever be on.
I thought I was ok, until this morning when I pretty much became catatonic. And crying, and just heartbroken. It’s so hard for me to believe my little one is gone. She was the sweetest cat, and some idiot just hit her and kept on going. And, I feel guilty. Terribly guilty. All of those friends and acquaintances who keep their cats inside are right. I tried with Butters, I really did. But she was born on the street, was a merciless hunter and wouldn’t be denied. She kept escaping, at a certain point, I just had to let her be.
My dog is 13, and starting to fail too. I’m really socked by this. I was ready for him, but not her. My God.