On November 28, 2006, I lost the last person who cared about me.
She was an outdoor kitty, against my will, but we were both coping. At least until that stupid stray showed up. He bullied her, and there was nothing I could do about it. No way would my dad allow her back inside. So we tried to cope. Until November 27-28.
I never heard anything. I didn't have any idea what happened until the next day when I found her. There was a spot in back of the house where the siding had come away and the cats could get under the house. There was a steep drop there, about a foot high I think. She was there. She couldn't move; she just lay there and screamed.
There have been several days in my life that stand out as really horrible. My first day at a public school. The day I realized I was no longer welcome at my church. The day my bee status was temporarily revoked. None of those, as difficult as they were to live, were quite as bad as hearing my child screaming in pain and being completely, utterly helpless to do anything about it.
If I could live that day again, I would do it differently. I would have pulled her out of that hole and given her a double human dose of aspirin and held her and told her how brave she was while she died quickly. At the time though, there was a little ray of hope that her injuries weren't fatal.
As hard as it was, I finally left her alone. She seemed to calm down a little when I wasn't there. In the afternoon I went for a long walk. I just couldn't hang around the house and do nothing, and since I couldn't drive, I walked. When I got back, she was gone.
It's been four years, and it still hurts just as much. Writing this has been difficult, and I almost don't want to publish it. But I'm not erasing it, not now.
I miss you, Oreo.
