The tragic ending

by Katie on September 3, 2009

Disclaimer: If you’re a big animal lover or don’t like semi-gruesome details, you probably don’t want to read the end of this.

When I began sharing this story Monday morning, I had no idea how it would end.

One of my very favorite people, Allison, called Tuesday night. She asked how the cat was doing.

“Dead,” I replied.

“Oh,” she said, “So, did it fry in the rafters like Brandon predicted, or did Dixie and Wilbur get to it? Or, did both of you just get so fed up with it one of you shot it?”

All likely outcomes, I’ve got to admit.

When we left Monday to do some irrigating, I was a bit nervous about the cat being out with the dogs while we were gone. Brandon just said, “Let nature run her course.”

So I didn’t watch the house as we were leaving.

I pulled in the driveway mid-day, and found Wilbur carrying the cat around…in his mouth.

Prancing around like he was showing off a trophy or something. A little disturbing.

So I called Brandon, “Hey, Wilbur killed the cat.”

“Oh…sorry?” he offered. Like he was asking if that was what I wanted to hear.

“Can you please come dispose of it? I really don’t want to watch him eat her or something.”

So he came by to retrieve the dead cat. He was headed to our field in Palo Verde, where I would be irrigating for the next few days. I had to go out there later in the day once the water arrived to check the ditch and fix one port Brandon forgot to close.

Well, guess where the cat was?

Right in front of the one port I had to check. I had already seen it dangling from the dog’s mouth, now I had to witness it slung on the ditch bank. And I wish that was where it ended.

But the next morning, when I arrived to change the water, there were three vultures on the side of the road. Having breakfast.

I sent Brandon a text: Just had to witness vultures eating the cat.

I sent him another message having to do with the water soon after that. He called to check on it, then started to get off the phone.

“Did you get my other message?” I asked.

“Oh…yeah…I just wasn’t gonna bring that one up.”

I found out later that day that when the cat died, he sent out a text message to all his buddies telling them something about me being upset with him about the cat dying. Not the case. We had a discussion about that last night.

“Oh, by the way, I found out what you told all the guys when the cat died. You made it sound like I was upset it happened and angry with you about it or something.”

“Well, when you first called, I thought you were. When I saw you later and you made a reference to it and kind of laughed about it, I found out otherwise.”

“What? That first conversation was a whole five sentences. All I did was tell you it was dead and ask you to haul it off. I was not upset about the cat. Disturbed to see our dog prancing around the yard with it in his mouth? Sure. But not upset. And definitely not blaming you.”

“Yeah, I know that now. And I bet you were more disturbed when you found it on the side of the road.”

“Yes. But not as disturbed as I was the next day when I had to watch vultures eating it. But thanks anyway for ‘disposing’ of it.”

So, the cat was definitely the worst idea ever. Even more so for her than for us.

Now we get to resume life as normal. Catless and goatless.


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