Monday morning I lost one of my little furry friends in a really horrific way. For those who are unaware of my feline situation, I was the owner of three semi-feral cats. They were born under our garden shed over fourteen years ago and I knew them from kittenhood. I had them spayed and neutered. My husband built them a cat house and they become my outdoor friends. Mrs. Bigglesworth or Mrs. B for short, Buster, and Flufster.
Well, about two months ago, I noticed that Buster had lost a lot of weight. He was still a sweet, gentle, purring kitty, but not an eating one. Then one day he wandered off and didn't return. It was sad, but expected. And he was happy until the end.
|So long, Buster|
But last Monday was a different story. Two large dogs, Huskies, I believe, got loose in the neighborhood. I think you may guess where this is going. And I'm afraid you're right. They attacked little Flufster. She was losing her hearing and so, she was slow off the mark.
It was a brutal attack. Tom and I ran outside and tried to chase them off. Even as we were doing this I was thinking, "What the hell am I doing? What if they turn on us?" But they didn't. The dogs were after our cat. It took Tom turning the hose on them to finally get them gone.
Our poor little cat was terrorized and dying. My heart was breaking and I very stupidly tried to pick her up. At which point the little thing attacked my hand. Well, after the burial in the backyard she knew so well, there was the trip to the doctor.
I'm still sad, as is Mrs. B. who will now probably die of obesity because I keep feeding her to make up for our loss. I know Fluff was only a cat, but she was my cat and it was a terrible way to go.
|Mrs. B., last kitty standing|