Death becomes a cat.

After I watched the poor cat die; after I went in and got a baby blanket to wrap it's now still body in so that perchance should the owner come upon it they would know that someone had cared for it in it's last minutes; after I went back inside and cried and cried about this little soul that I had never known; I was struck with the memory of my young stupid cat, so many years ago.

A cat much like this one, cocky and brave and dumb to have crossed a busy street in the night. His body wrapped up, those many years ago, like this cat is now, in a blanket, and placed kindly on the sidewalk so that he would not be run over again. I can only hope that someone pet him and spoke to him while he died as I did with this 'stranger' cat, I can only hope that he felt safe when he lost all feeling and drifted off to who knows where.

With calm and soothing lies I spoke to this cat, 'it'll be alright' I mustered - knowing that it wouldn't. It's body ached and arched, it's tiny mouth breathing so hard. And in only a few treacherous minutes it released and was gone. Leaving just an empty shell of a cat. I feel like instead of a help I was a grotesque spectator of this cat's very personal and painful demise.

My heart thumps so fast and hurts as I relive the moments in my mind. I felt so helpless, and yet there was nothing I could do. Who would think this tiny creature could phase me so much?

In the moments that passed his body was moved by numerous people, independently of each other, from the edge of the street to the edge of the sidewalk, to the inner part of the sidewalk on a plank of old counter and finally he was covered by a thin plastic to protect his lifeless body from the rain.

Even in death he managed to phase all who passed him and bring a little more humanity to all of us as we reached out to morn and respect the body of a dead stray cat.