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Splat Cat

November 21, 2017

My husband was going through his files and happened upon the veterinarian records for our past animals. 

 

“I don’t even remember these cats,” he said, shuffling through the pile.  “Who’s Edwin?”

 

You know, that beautiful black cat that disappeared and I posted flyers all over town but nobody ever saw him again?  That was such a mystery.

 

“What about Alice?”  he asked.

 

Remember my sweet little white cat that was so shy that everyone thought she was my imaginary friend?

 

“Oh yeah.  The ghost cat.  What happened to her?”

 

She got an infection from an abscess that the vet missed until it was too late, I said, my voice catching.

 

“Bruce?”

 

Obstructed bowel.

 

“And Greta?”

 

Cancer.

 

“You go through a lot of cats,” he said. 

 

I wasn’t liking his tone.  In my heart I am a true Cat Lady but for some reason I’m just not destined to become one.  I still mourn every cat I ever had.  Maybe I simply loved them to death. That really doesn’t make sense, though, does it?  The only explanation is I’m either jinxed or a tool of the Feline Grim Reaper. 

 

For example, a few days ago I was heading home in my car.  It was a dark and stormy night.  Okay, it wasn’t stormy but in my defense it was very dark and I didn’t see the poor creature until it was too late.  I thought only deer were supposed to freeze in the headlights, but apparently not.  This cat stared wide-eyed at me from the middle of the road as if I were indeed coming to take away its soul.  And he, or she… hard to tell when they’re splatted flat… was right.  I was going too fast to stop and swerving didn’t seem like an option. So, of course I tried to straddle it.  At first I thought it was the right move but when I heard a sickening thump I knew I had misjudged.  It was horrible.

 

A few minutes later my husband greeted a hysterical wife at the door, wondering what terrible calamity had befallen her—meaning me. 

 

I just sent another cat over the Rainbow Bridge! I sobbed.

 

I have a very kind husband.  Since the incident happened only a few blocks away he offered to drive back and check on the cat.  When he got back I was still bawling.

 

“I found it.  It was just a jack rabbit,” he lied.

 

I knew it wasn’t a jack rabbit, unless jack rabbits have long tails and pointy ears, but it was easier to play along.  The last thing I wanted was to add one more cat to my repertoire.  I'm not looking forward to it but I think I need to send my condolences to the neighbors who just lost their beloved pet jack rabbit.

 

Note:  This image is of a jack rabbit yawning, not dying.  I may not have the best taste in pictures but as a cat-lover I would never exploit an animal in pain.  

 

 

 

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