Dublin Saab

Cars, politics, sports and what not from my view. (Closed Sundays and Holidays)

Thursday, July 28, 2005

RIP fuzzy

I had a wonderful experience today.

I was sitting down at the table to start math homework when I began to hear a ruckus out front. Upon investigation I see Janet (across the street neighbor) talking to some lanky guy dressed like a goob, then I notice they are standing over the body of what I only hope is a dead cat. I come out to see what’s happened. At first I am fearful that it’s Darrow, my next door neighbor’s cat, as this cat has a similar coat. Then I notice that it’s wearing a collar and feel relived as Darrow doesn’t wear collars.

Janet is talking to the lanky man as he is visibly shaken after having run over what is obviously someone’s pet. Janet is talking him down. I am staring into the face of death. It was a head shot and there is a lot of blood. I bend down and put my hand on the cat’s chest and sadly there is still life fighting against any hope. The breathing is shallow but the heart is thumping away.

Next out is Janet’s next door neighbor, Diane. She comes up and starts talking with the man as Janet goes to get some towels to cover the body. When Janet returns I cover the cat but keep my hand on its chest. The breathing is barely detectable and the heart is starting to go wonky. Janet and Diane are now both talking to the man who looks to me and states that at least the cat died quick. At this point tell the three of them that he is still breathing, though very weak. The man won’t hear of it saying that the brain is dead.

Janet asks what’s on the tag so I take my hand from the chest, pull the towel back a little and wipe the blood from the tag. Horror. It would seem that the grey love ball next door got himself a collar just this very morning. “Fuck, it is Darrow.” Diane takes the man to Rico and Jane’s house to knock on the door, while I put my hand back to Darrow’s chest just in time to feel his heart go into cardiac arrest from the blood loss. His legs give a little kick and he slips on.

More neighbors are coming out now, it’s like a 50’s sitcom. Everyone knew Darrow and the word is passing down while Janet looks for a box. I look back to Darrow’s house and see Jane holding her 8-year old girl, Sarsha, who is – as to be expecting – balling. Her younger 5-year old bother is confused.

Jane leaves the kids with Diane and comes out into the street to where Darrow is. There’s blood splatter on a parked car. The man is mindlessly following her offering everything then at his limit he exits the scene (he had given number and info). Jane looks to me with a look saying, “are you sure it’s Darrow”. He’s under the towel, I tell her simply that she doesn’t want to see.

Janet’s back with a box, into which I put Darrow’s lifeless corpse. Jane and Sarsha are both crying while little Jack is demanding to know why I won’t let Darrow out of the box. I hid the box in my back yard so the kids can’t get at him and let Jane know where he is so they can get him when Rico comes home from work. While I’m hiding the box I can hear Janet hosing the mess off the street.

A few hours later Sarsha was trying to put on a good face and talking to me about him. She wanted to ask if she could see him but was beating around the bush in a way only 8-year old girls can. I give her the, “I’m being serious adult” tone and tell her simply that she doesn’t want to see him and that you don’t want what’s in that box to be your last memory of Darrow. She’s still curious but fortunately is in the short span of reasonableness that lasts for about 3 weeks between toddlerhood and adolescence, so she excepts that she’s better off. And trust me, she is.

Later in the evening, after Rico had come and claimed Darrow, Helen and I relaxed for a moment on the porch. Across the street we watch Theo, a cat that Darrow was want to keep out of his territory, sniffing and acting odd at the scene of the accident. Theo then comes across the street, up our steps and starts rubbing everything and begging for attention. Theo has never set foot on this side of the street for fear of Darrow, there had to have been something in the cacophony of scents that told Theo’s kitty brain that the coast was clear.

The king is dead, long live the king.

6 Comments:

At July 29, 2005 6:16 PM, Blogger The Auto Prophet said...

Well written.

 
At July 29, 2005 7:50 PM, Blogger Nightcrawler said...

A tragedy and the end of a life becomes the beginning of a new tale. The story of how you got to know Theo. Great post.

 
At July 30, 2005 5:17 AM, Blogger The Evil Jeremy. said...

Interesting and reflective. Perhaps you're catching the odd "personal essay" bug that's been floating aroung lately. But it's always fun to blog about something a bit different, isn't it?

 
At July 30, 2005 6:57 AM, Blogger Dublin Saab said...

Oh I wouldn't go as far to say I got the bug. More I just had to do a little self therapy. I knew Darrow, and it was a "head shot". Needed to clean the system a bit.

As a side note Theo was back on our porch again looking for attention last night.

As a second side note I got up at 5:45 to get Helen to the airport and get ready for Das Vroom. What exactly are you doing up so bloody early?

 
At July 30, 2005 2:15 PM, Blogger The Evil Jeremy. said...

That would be "still up," not "up." I decided recently that, along with taking up swimming and running, that I needed to lose the nightly booze tranquilizing system. Takes a little while for the natural one to kick back in, though, and home internet access finally came back online after 16 days of storm-damaged equipment.

Therapy or no, that was a kind of writing you might want to try occasionally. The results weren't half bad.

 
At August 01, 2005 8:52 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

The end is also the beginning, and I read at first with some haste. You said you had a wonderful experience, and right away went into a dead cat lying in the street. I thought "Hey, this could be really twisted." It wasn't, but I still thoroughly enjoyed it.

 

Post a Comment

<< Home