I was at my mother's house and she started to tell me about her walk back from the mall today. She saw something on the street across the bank, right where the median started. As she approached, the object came clearer into view and she realized it was a large white cat, perfectly still. Lying there. With its eyes open.
It was still warm.
I told her to stop telling me any more, that I didn't want to hear.
She continued, said it didn't look injured at all, and told how a woman made a U-turn in the street, parked, and came over. The woman told her that she had just seen a white pick-up truck hit the cat and not even slow down as it left the scene. The woman pulled the cat by its feet to the side of the road and said she'd take it home to give it a decent burial. My mother said a little prayer for it and told it that it was loved.
I backed away and told her to stop talking. She asked, "Why? It's reality." I didn't need reality and walked quickly to the door.
She spoke faster and louder as I was making my escape, saying that another woman from across the street came out to see what was going on. In a heavy accent, the woman told them that the cat looked like hers.
I rushed for the door and was halfway out.
The woman turned the cat over and confirmed that it was.
I screamed as I slammed the door shut.
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Breathless and freaked, I rushed home to Rocky Raccoon and told he never was to go out of the house ever again because there are people in white pickup trucks who kill cats. And I hugged and cried on him 'til he couldn't stand it.
It's been hours, and it was still difficult to type this tonight. Kinda hard with tears streaming down your face.
I'll have to ask my mom for the rest of the story..when I'm strong enough to hear it. (She's annoyed with me that I ran out on her.) Tragic tales about humans don't affect me the way animal stories do. Don't bother telling me, I've always know that my priorities were screwed.
Rocky Raccoon, JUST RESTING, as I blog
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