‘I’m sorry this happened to you,’ I say as I tentatively stroke the cat’s fur. He’s wet and stretched out as if in mid-bound, no sign of any trauma, other than the distinct lack of life.
‘What did you say?’
‘I told the cat I’m sorry he died,’ I say to the lady who has decided that I need her help in dealing with this but isn’t actually helping in anyway. She just wants to be part of this, without responsibility. ‘Can you watch him while I nip back to my house to get a blanket?’
‘What for?’
‘To wrap him in.’
‘No why do I need to watch him?’
I roll my eyes. If the cat was alive, we would be sharing a look right now.
‘I live just there,’ I gesture at my house two up from where we are. ‘I won’t be a second.’
I regret asking her to stay with the cat but she begrudgingly agrees. It isn’t like it’s going anywhere, but I don’t like the idea of it being there alone.
I grab a cleanish dog towel from the car and head back to the cat. I lift him gently onto the towel, again telling him I’m sorry. My reluctant helper frowns as I talk to the cat and takes a step back when I pick him up. I really don’t know why she stuck around. We part ways and I place the cat on my doorstep while I call the vet to see if they can check him for a microchip. To my surprise they ask if I can wait till the end of the day to avoid upsetting clients.
So now I need to store the cat somewhere. I glance at him in the muddy dog towel and realise I also need something better to wrap him in. I post a careful message about the cat on the neighbourhood Facebook group then go in search of a better shroud.
It’s hard. I don’t really have any old towels, they automatically become dog towels and are mud stained and smelly. So I go through my blankets, but this also isn’t easy. I don’t want to pick something to cheerful. What would the owners think if they should get in touch via Facebook and come to collect him before I take him to the vet. So, the dancing duck picnic blanket won’t do, and the cat taco fleece blanket is a definite no for obvious reasons.
I don’t want to use something that looks nice either in case the owners feel they must wash and return it, so the baby quilt is out. Finally, I remember a blue herringbone blanket of my mother’s, that I had only hung onto because it was hers. I know mum wouldn’t mind me using it for the cat, she was an animal lover.
I wrap the cat in the blanket, with some difficulty as he’s large and rigor mortis has set in. I can’t get both his tail and his face in the wrapping, so I settle on leaving his tail protruding as this is less distressing than his face with the wide staring eyes and lolling tongue.
I then ponder where to store him, I can’t leave him in the house, the dogs and my cat will be a little too interested in him. I also don’t want him in the car. I know he won’t start to smell between now and 17.00, but I still don’t want to risk it. So, he goes into the summerhouse on an old Lloyd loom which I have been meaning to fix-up.
By now my post on Facebook has gathered some comments, a few pictures of a lady’s missing cat who doesn’t look anything like the one in the summer house, I let her down gently. Helpful comments from people suggesting I go door to door as it must be a local pet. I imagine this scenario, me walking the streets ringing bells, asking people if they have a pet cat, do they know where it is, and could it possibly be the dead one in my summerhouse? No, I’m not doing that either.
Finally, 17.00 rolls round and I gather up the cat, but when I get to the car, I can’t juggle holding him and opening the door, so I have to place him on my general waste bin momentarily. My neighbour Hilary appears and hurries over, she has her phone showing a picture of a lovely tortoise shell cat.
‘Is this the cat?’
‘No, he’s a grey tabby,’ I gesture to the wrapped bundle on the bin. But it isn’t there. Its gone. Later that night I pour myself a generous glass of wine and toast my new motto – if at first you don’t succeed, hide all evidence that you ever tried. I spent a good while blocking everyone who commented on my dead cat Facebook post before deleting it. I don’t want to have to explain to a stranger that not only is their cat dead, but I’ve also lost its body.
Mind Burble
Its been more than a hot minute. I am working on a longer project at the moment and find it hard to create shorter pieces whilst doing this. I have also started the dreaded editing phase so am easily distracted …
A Year of Time 