For the first time in weeks, I was able to get up early enough and quietly enough to sneak out early for work today. I had planned on taking the bus in, so I could rescue the one stranded car at work. I had walked out to the bus stop and was a few minutes early. Someone else was waiting with me, so I said “Hi.” I was anxiously waiting, watching for the bus when I looked down toward our intersection and saw a largish, orange pile in the middle of the road. I started wondering, Could it be Peanut? By the time that thought finished, I was running. I looked, and was 90% sure it was him. In the meantime, the bus pulled up, and for some reason, I got on it, paid my fare, and told the driver, “I think that’s my cat.” Simultaneously, I called Shawna and left her a message that I thought Peanut was dead.
I sat down, and she called back. I told her, and started crying. I said, What should we do? Should we get him out of the road? Should I get off the bus? Clearly, I don’t function well around death. When my mom died, I had planned on going to my meeting the next day. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I hopped off the bus at the next stop and started running home, panicking now. I stopped at the intersection again to confirm it was him. It was, and I ran home. I called Shawna and asked her to help me. By the time I got to the driveway, she had Graem in the car. I grabbed a box and a shovel to scoop him up.
We pulled up on the shoulder next to him, and in spite of the fact that I was walking towards a dead cat with a white box and a shovel, I had to flag people to slow down. I scooped up as much of him as I could–it was a mess. I cried on the way home, and we explained to Graem that Peanut was gone.
As soon as I got home, I went to our magnolia tree–which has become the spot for all dead things, unfortunately–and started digging. With the pickax, the shovel…furiously. It was hard–roots everywhere, we had to get the pruners to cut them back. Graem and Shawna watched as I did my best to dig–why was that cat so huge?? We told Graem again that Peanut was dead and she said, “But Peanut’s my friend!” I told her he was my friend too, but he got hit by a car. When I finally got a hole big enough, Shawna took Graem away so I could pour Peanut’s remains into the hole, and cover up his really mangled parts. I left his head and his front paws sticking out. I pet his head one last time and told him goodbye, and that we loved him. Graem and Shawna each took handfuls of dirt and helped bury him.
I couldn’t really get a hole deep enough, so I thought we should put something heavy on his grave, to keep the animals from getting him. I rolled one of our huge logs from the side of the road onto his grave. We then found some small fieldstones from the hole I dug and placed them on top of the log.
I guess I was the saddest. Graem kept saying, “I know Mommy, don’t be sad,” and hugging me.
Why does this keep happening to us?
