I buried a cat today. It wasn’t one that I’d seen around the neighborhood before. It was dead in the middle of my sizable front yard. By its bloodied nose I could only speculate that it’d died of internal bleeding from blunt force trauma via a car. It had to’ve drug itself more than 50 feet from the road to where I found it laid out this afternoon.
Digging a grave was harder than I remember it being. It wasn’t hard because a creature had died… it was hard because I’ve been something of a sloth for the past year and a half and I hadn’t used any of those shoveling muscles in quite some time. The last grave I dug was nearly 5 years ago. It was for my cat Toffee.
While I was digging I couldn’t help but feel some worry that I was digging near his grave. That probably would have killed me to uncover his remains. He was buried with a yellow towel wrapped around him. I couldn’t stand the thought of worms making their way through his 3 year old body. I suppose I only delayed the inevitable by the slightest bit.
Back to the recently deceased,… I’d forgotten how stiff dead bodies were. The last dead creature I had my hands on was my dissection cat from senior year of high school. I wasn’t sad for that cat and I don’t know that I feel sad for this one either. I feel a sense of loss though for his owner and the lack of any kind of closure for them.
Neighborhood cat, may you find peace amongst my other fallen animals.
I’m sure it can be fun. I say that as long as all persons involved are willing participants and that safety rules exist that they should have at it. I don’t know how into it I would be, but I suppose it depends on who your partner is.