A Tribute to a Little Bitch
08/19/2003
7:15 p.m.
A couple of years ago a skinny, fluffy, gray and white cat found its way to my parents' back door. My sister, feeling sorry for the thing, brought out some milk and -*poof*- my family had a new pet. She was never really given a name. Mostly it was "The Cat" or "Miss Kitty". Every now and then she was referred to as "Miss Bitch" due to her charming, although snobby, attitude. Miss Bitch came to rule the roost outdoors. You never picked her up. She chose when she would sit in your lap. The dogs knew better than to sniff around her. She constantly demanded to know where her next meal was. But she loved to be petted. She could be extremely sweet and loving. She adored any affection, and relished the fact that this was her backyard. Unfortunately, The Cat had one huge flaw. She loved sleeping in the driveway. And she expected everyone to drive around her. If you drove slowly enough, you could usually coerce her into moving, but not after getting a look that said I'm only moving because I want to, not because you need me to. This flaw would be her undoing. Two Sundays ago I had gone over to visit my parent's and discuss various house moving details. When I got there, though, everyone was either asleep or running errands, so I used this time to catch up on my digital cable watching. After a couple of hours of this, my mother came flying in the door. She was crying and talking so quickly that it took me a few times to get the whole sentence. "I just ran over the cat." I just sat there for a moment. I didn't know what to do. I've never dealt with a situation like this. What if the cat was still alive? Is there such thing as an animal 911? Mom ran off to wake Dad, and I tentatively walked outside. I saw my car parked on the grass(a place my father keeps reminding me not to park), and my mother's car in the middle of the driveway. I didn't see Miss Kitty until I walked around my sister's car. At first glance she could have been asleep-except for the blood around her mouth. I watched her for a couple of moments to see if she was breathing. I was afraid to get too close. Her leg reached up like she was trying to scratch her ear, but I think it was a reflex. Miss Bitch was gone. I have images of moments from my life that have become permanently burned into my brain. I can close my eyes and see each one picture-perfectly. I really wish this hadn't become one of them. You'll be missed, Miss Bitch.
Comments on this Entry (1 comments so far)
************************************
� Lysistrata 2003-2004
|
