Elegy for a stray kitten

There was never any reluctance to go back for the dead kitten. We were heading home from an anniversary dinner and as we pulled onto Greenland Avenue, an unmistakable lump sat in the road. A kitten had tangled with a moving car and the inevitable happened. 

Nancy saw the mother cat watching nearby. There was no hesitation from either of us. Dead or not, we were not going to leave the stray in the road. Had we waited the its body would have been pulverized by the drivers who sometimes double Greenland Avenue’s 30 mph speed limit

A quiet moment for mother cat and in all likelihood, her late kitten.

A few weeks ago, I saw a rather plump cat roaming the neighborhood. A few days later, her physique was explained by the kitten lounging with her in our backyard. 

As a storm kicked up, the mother cat grabbed the sizable kitten by its scruff and hustled him across the road. Due to his size, she dropped him halfway across and they both scampered into a storm pipe then back out into a safer row of shrubs.

Neither the mother cat nor her kittens appeared again. He was the only one I saw; she could have moved the others before I saw them. We had worried that one of the neighborhood tomcats had gotten to them; male cats will kill a litter to send the mother back into heat. Disease or malnutrition could have taken the rest of the litter. We might never know. Life treats strays harshly.

On Wednesday night, before we could do anything else, we had to attend to that kitten. I grabbed a snow shovel and a yard waste bag. Not having spent a lot of time around death in my life, I didn't do that eagerly.

The mother cat sat in a nearby driveway. She never moved when we took away her lost baby. Her attention never wavered from the furry bump in the road. I do wonder how animals react when they lose an offspring in such a way. Not to get too anthropomorphic, but it felt like she was a holding a sort of wake for her lost progeny.  It added a surreal gloss to grim proceedings. 

The street was quiet. In the dark, I could not tell if this was the same kitten from that day in the yard. I didn’t want to know. I didn't want that connection to the harmless tuft of fuzz that romped in my backyard.

He was still warm. The car that knocked the life out of him did not pass long before we found him. His little legs dangled limply as I laid him gently on the shovel. We loaded him into a lawn waste bag. I kept quietly hoping for some movement, some whimper or any sign that he was only stunned or hurt. Anything would have done. But nothing came.

I tried to hold together. When it was clear he died, I could not. 

Before we left, I caught eyes with the silent mother cat and offered condolences for his lost baby. She sat peaceful as ever. Again, what she radiated could only be sadness.That aloof feline mystique could only hide so much. The cat just looked stunned.

We put him in a safe outdoor place for the night where nothing nocturnal could attack the body. After work the next day, with shovel in hand, Nancy and I buried the kitten. Till I rested the lawn bag in the hole, I held out hope for a miracle for some rustle of life left in the tiny body.  No noise  came, but our little burial was better than what the world had otherwise offered that tiny cat.