This morning I was up early rocking Rowan and watching the news. It was peaceful. Lola was still in bed and Wil had gone out to feed the horses. Suddenly there was a frantic knock at our door. Taking Rowan along I ran to the door to find our neighbor from 3 doors down crying on our doorstep.
"Your cat has been hit by a car" she said. "I saw him in the ditch, I think he is still alive!"
I handed the baby to her and ran, pj's and all, down to the gravel road. I could see his limp little body in the ditch. There was no movement except the wind in his puffy fur. When I got closer I could see he was dead. His little body looked so sad and defeated there in the grass. I picked him up and carried him to the porch where I laid him down. Numbly I wrapped him in a towel and thanked the neighbor for telling me. Just about then Lola woke up and I had a terrible time keeping her from coming outside to see the mess. She saw one paw peeking out from beneath the towel and asked what happened.
"Well, Bitty got hit by a big car" I answered, as best I could.
"He went to be with Jesus?" Lola asked.
"Yes, he did, Lo, he did."
Then the tears came. I had taken this little guy in three years ago almost to the day, just before Lola was born. He was left at the clinic, a pus-eyed ball of gooey fur that no one thought would live. I took him home with me for the weekend because I didn't want him to die alone. Three years later he was a beautiful sleek black cat with a famously puffy tail. Bitty was an amazing mouser, a good playmate for the kids, and a neighborhood favorite. He was the only cat I knew with a sense of humor.
I hope to remember him the way he was rather than the last time I saw him, and I hope he didn't suffer. Losing a pet is so very hard. I guess heaven will have a lot fewer mice now!
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