I pulled into the driveway last night just as our roomie was walking out to her car. She ran over, hugged me and said “I LOOOOOVE you. Remember that.” My immediate reaction was to look at her suspiciously and ask “What have you done?” At that moment My husband came running out the door. He grabbed the back of her sweatshirt as she was desperately trying to escape and made her break the news. Our cat, Kitten, (shut up it fits fit him) was killed by a car.
She was home alone and the first hand account of her reaction coupled with my husband’s input on what she sounded like when she called him (near hysterically to hear him tell it) was, perhaps inappropriately, quite amusing. And so I giggled. Until Jon started describing the body to me.
Still. I haven’t had the emotional reaction that I expected. They obviously were looking for tears from me but I was removed enough from the event that it doesn’t seem real. Intellectually I understand that he’s dead and in a gruesome manner. Functionally though – he’s just gone. He went outside and hasn’t come back.
Oh I’ll miss him. I’ll miss his cuddles and his loud purrs and his head butts to the face. He was a good kitty.
