Tom-cat died this morning, hit by a car. Yeah, I’m used to death, I could say, and wear it like a badge of honor. But that’s not it. You don’t get used to it. It’s like winter. You turn up the heat. You turn on more lights. You don’t even try to break up the frozen ground. Spring will come when she’s ready. But what the heck am I supposed to do with myself now?
I dropped the boys off at school and wondered if I should’ve kept them home because that way there wouldn’t be the chance they’d come up against any hard people. And I kept hearing Dylan sing He ain’t dead. He’s just asleep. I drove home too fast and the car was really heavy.
Our Tom-cat died exactly the same way as our Mannie-cat died. In front of the same house. And I think about the woman three doors down who hated Mannie-cat and once came to the door throwing a curse at us in a shaky voice. Is her hatred responsible for this misfortune? Does the world work that way? If it helps, if it will make this never happen again, I forgive her. And if it is my fault for letting our cats roam, then I forgive myself. Because it isn’t about their lives anymore. It’s about ours.