Today I went for a walk. I came upon a short concrete wall and I thought I’d stop for a sit – write down a thought, maybe. As I approached the wall, I found a sweet little kitty lying dead by the side of the road. It kinda looked like the kitties above, except it had sweet little white paws and the tip of its tail was black.
I sat down next to it for a while and looked at it. It looked like it was loved – its fur was pretty and soft and clean, and it looked well-fed and cuddly. It broke my heart. I wrote it a little poem, but I won’t include that here, because that’s even sillier and girlier than what I did next.
I called Big Boy David.
“David,” I said, “I found a dead little kitty.”
“Call public safety,” he grunted.
I knew then that he would be no help, so I hung up and walked down the road to a thrift store. I bought a bread box, a little embroidered pillow and a piece of soft, flowered fabric. Also, I bought some heavy-duty gloves. And then I walked back up, in the rain, to give the kitty the dignified burial that it deserved.
I put the pillow in the breadbox, and then I laid the fabric down. I picked up the kitty in my gloved hands. It was stiff and heavy and jarring – I’d never held a dead thing before. I placed Kitty in her coffin, covered her with the rest of the fabric, and closed the breadbox. Then I carried it across the street to a graveyard and put it gently down under a tree. I said a Mourner’s Kaddish over it and threw my gloves away.
Sleep well, Kitty. Dream of mice and canned tuna in a place with no scary yellow lines.