The Loss of a Pet
Punky was run over by a car yesterday and killed.
We found him a few houses down thrown off to the side by the curb.
There's a lot of cars that speed by, even though there's a school smack dab in the middle of the neighborhood.
My son discovered Punky while walking the dog.
It had to have just happened.
I had just petted him and gave him his dinner no more than twenty minutes earlier- he didn't finish it.
So we picked him up, his mangled lifeless body, put him in a plastic bag and put him in a box.
Then, we put the box in the trash bin for this morning's pick up.
But upon further reflection, and a great many tears, I didn't have it in me to just toss him in the landfill, or garbage heap, or wherever it is they take the trash.
He wasn't trash.
He was loved.
So we took him out, and will bury him in our backyard.
It was in the summer I came across Punky.
He was a stray that hung out around the school- which is six houses away from mine.
My son and I noticed him when we walked the dog around the school.
We began to give him food and water, because he just hung out on the cool pavement on the north side steps of the school- in the shade and out of the heat.
I called him Muffy, because he was a black cat with white muzzle that looked like cotton puffs.
My son insisted Punky was a better name when we realized he was a HE.
So that became the routine- walk the dog and feed and water the stray at the school.
On the 4th of July, I drove by the school on way to get whatever it was I needed to get for the BBQ we were having in the backyard, and I saw him languidly saunter to the cool, smooth pavement where he liked to lie down to escape the heat.
Only the 4th of July turned out to be exceptionally hot.
I drove back and forth several times noticing Punky hadn't moved since he first laid down.
He was in the exact same position all day.
Near the end of my runs, when I went by him again, and saw him very flat and still in the same place, I worried he had died.
That 4th gave everyone heat stroke.
The BBQ was ruined- we took it inside.
So while everyone was miserable and recuperating in the livingroom, I took the dog for a walk, just especially to see if Punky was ok.
I was so worried, he didn't react immediately when I called him from the sidewalk.
He finally got up when I brought him water- which he lapped at and almost finished in one second.
The next morning, I went to the school and brought him home.
He stayed next door at my daughter's house in the carport a while, until he ventured out and hung out in my carport.
He was always there when I went out for my cigarette break, rubbing against my legs or sitting on my feet.
He was surprisingly affectionate for a cat.
He loved to be cuddled.
And I loved cuddling him.
We all did.
He had a box in the carport with a flannel dress and t-shirt, and couch cushion.
The lid hung down.
My son called it-'The Punker Bunker.'
He said Punky was a tough street cat and he had seen Punky fight off the other stray cats to defend our home.
He was going to buy Punky one of those little derby hats they sell at the craft store- for the teddy bears.
He said Punky also needed a cigar to complete the 'tough street cat' look.
Then the cold came in.
We had Punky stay inside some nights, but he had to be under strict supervision.
He and our other cat, Lady, were not keen on each other.
And Punky had claws- Lady does not.
So, I slept with him on the couch one night.
And he slept with my son the night before last.
And when we were calling him in yesterday and he didn't come running up, I just figured he was out and about- up to his usual no-good kitty business.
Until my son screamed out my name a few houses down, and came running back with the dog.
"Punky's dead!" he cried.
"What?" I cried.
And we haven't really stopped crying since.
Oh, I know people think it's crazy and silly to be so broken-hearted and cry over an animal.
I used to think that way, too, when others would tell me about their pet being lost or sick or dying- because I had no connection to that animal.
It is/was not a part of my life.
I will never do that again.
I will ,from this day forward, try to be more understanding.
But words of comfort are no help.
In fact, I found that encouraging words are the worse!!!
"He had a happier life because you took him in."
"If it hadn't been for you- he'd have died of starvation and thirst."
"I remember when you were so worried that 4th of July and brought him home."
It just makes me feel worse.
"He had a happier life because you took him in."- Maybe if I had just left him alone, he would have had a happier life.
"If it hadn't been for you- he'd have died of starvation and thirst."- Well, because of me, he died run over by a car.
"I remember when you were so worried that 4th of July and brought him home."- I remember, too.
I remember, too.
And I will always remember when I drive by the school- which is what I do several times everyday.
There's no easy calm to the pain.
I feel like my heart was ripped out, thrown in the street, and run over.
And this was just a cat.
A black cat with white muzzle puffs and whiskers.
White gloves.
Clipped ear from the catch-and-release feral cat program.
Very dapper street tough cat that we only had for 5 months.
But he will be in our hearts a lot longer than that.
RIP Punky.
Loved July 4, 2016- December 18, 2016.
You were a stray cat, but you will always have a home with us.
May St. Francis watch over you until we can, again.