Kiss of Death

I was mixing chocolate pudding my with my grape nuts for breakfast. "What are you doing?" I was asked.

My response: the milk is going bad, I'm not eating it on cereal. Pudding has some semblance of calcium ... it'll do the trick.

"Speaking of milk," my mom said, "I went in the barn the other day and the little kitty ... "

"What?! Was she down? Was she missing?" * Silence * Good lord let her be missing. "Is she dead?"

Mom nods her head. "She wasn't moving much and was kind of cool to the touch."

I tore back to my room, throwing on clothes. Putting on shoes I run out to the shed.

The ladder is put away. My heart sinks.

I climb the saw horses. Mom comes in. "She's not up there anymore."

I jump down. The baby is laying in a pail on a bed of sawdust. I look down on her.

"She's not breathing," Mom says.

I gently shake the pail. No movement. I touch her with the back of my fingers. Her eyes are somewhat open. I shake the pail again.

Nothing.

I was just out here two days ago. She was moving around, starting to play. I was going to bring out toys so I could amuse her more.

If only I had come out here yesterday .... how could she have turned so fast?

My head immediately goes through all the cats that have died over the years.

The tiny one who was born in November--he was tan and striped. None of the other cats would go by him. I got busy and didn't come by him for a week. It got too cold.

The four babies who were abandoned by their momma. They were the hardest. We brought them inside to feed and try to keep warm. Watching them decline from balls of fur, skinnier, weak, to picking up limp bodies trying to get food in the mouth. I cried so much. I've never been so close to death that i could feel life slipping away.

My beautiful, talented Mr. Ripley ... the cat who could fetch tennis balls. I'm not sure anymore what happened to him.

Besides me. The kiss of death. The cats I liked would die, leaving the mean ones. Every time. Thoughts of what could I have done differently to save them ... or her? DId Fergie stop feeding her because I would pet her? No ... it wouldn't have taken that fast. Did I get her sick by bringing her in the house last week? Did she fall over the edge and hit her head or break her neck? I should have put her on the bottom level when I saw her playing at the edge ... :-(

It was hard for me to lose these cats over the years. As I got older I was able to handle it better, not be as attached.

I didn't even name this little one. I knew she would either start hating me or die. But I still thought she might be different. I thought maybe I would have a friend for the summer. And then maybe I could move out and have her inside. She was so fluffy and furry and calm, with a white tipped tail.

I saw on the news the other day that inside cats have double the lifespan than their outside counterparts. Damn the inevitiable heartbreak.