oc now stands for only kitty

So I usually like to let birthday blogs linger - I work hard on them, after all, and people like them - but this year a very bad thing happened on Wendy's birthday. Apparently late Sunday evening my beloved cat, Blackers the Attackers, ran under a car that was just coming around the corner in front of our house. Erik discovered a blood stain by the mail box in the morning but no body. He didn't tell me about it right away (I was taking a practice LSAT) but I got suspicious when I heard him calling the cat.

I abandoned my test (I had sucked on puzzles anyway) and joined him in the search. Erik tried to tell me the blood could be human. He had seen some people gathered around a truck the night before. Crowds of any sort are unusual in our neighborhood and they'd had a bad vibe, he said. Perhaps they had had an altercation? Maybe I watch a little too much CSI, but it looked to me like the stain was quite consistent with that of a cat rolling around a tire. I felt nauseous.

Though we hoped against hope that the stain wasn't left by our darling Pequeno-Blackie-Akhmed-Little Fabe, we realized he's quite the homebody and he hadn't been in for his dinner or late night brother fight. We walked around a few blocks calling him and I even started a load of laundry (he loved to supervise the washing of clothes). We also left the back door open (another irresistible lure) but we had no success.

When we got home I started calling the veterinary ERs, the Sheriff, the local police, and our immediate neighbors. No luck, obviously. Within an hour, the phone rang and I saw that it was one of my two seal rescuing neighbors who live a block away. I'm not on the seal schedule this month, so my heart immediately sunk. When she asked if I had a black cat, I knew...

So the kid who was driving was really freaked out. Blackers came out of nowhere and he had no time to stop or swerve. He got out of his car, called his parents, and waited there for them. My cat died instantly - the impact destroyed his beautiful face. Meanwhile, a couple who was walking their dog came along and knew that my friend owned a black cat just a block away. They decided to take the body to her. She spent the evening worried until her own cat came home. Then, knowing where the accident occurred, she realized the dead cat was probly mine.

We'd known from the stain that the accident was most likely fatal. Since it was trash day, I had Erik checking everyone's cans thinking someone might have tossed him out. I can say that I am overwhelmingly grateful no one treated him that way. I appreciate that he was well cared for post mortem by my neighbors. I was tortured at the thought that I might never know what happened to him and I am glad that torture was only one hour long. Still, this really sucks.

I spent all day crying. Not crying, really, more like wailing. I was definitely doing what Oprah calls the "Ugly Cry." All of my usual comforts - alcohol, food, and sleep - have betrayed me. I can't maintain a buzz, nothing tastes good, and I can't fall asleep. My grief is physical - my heart hurts, my breathing's constricted, my muscles are tense. I've actually never been this fat and this sad at the same time; I truly feel like a heart attack is a possibility...

I wonder how long it will take OC to realize he is an only cat. We decided not to show him the body as we didn't want to freak him out. He's still pretty jumpy, so it seems he thinks there's a possibility his brother could show up at any moment... I was just glad OC came home at all. It's been exactly one year since he disappeared after the crazy lady abducted him. I was afraid she'd pull some sort of repeat performance. I really hope OC spends more time at home now that he's allowed to. I don't have it in my heart to force him to be an indoor kitty but I'm starting to see where those indoor kitty families are coming from.

In the morning we'll have Blackers cremated. I may not keep my kitties indoors when they are alive, but I'm not willing to bury them once they are gone. If I can hoard art supplies and Happy Meal toys, I sure as hell can hoard my dead cats.

Once I can see beyond my own grief, I'm sure I'll write Blackers a proper posting, celebrating all the ways in which he was a fabulous cat. Though I only had him for 2 years and 5 1/2 months, I've got plenty of wonderful memories. He really helped me heal after losing Fabian. Now that Blackie's gone, the loss feels doubled. I am so not prepared to go through all of this again.