Sometimes, we take everyday constants in our lives for granted. They are always present, and we never really think of what life would be like without them.
A long time ago, I wrote about a neighborhood stray cat named Gunther.
Before surgery snuffed out his romantic desires, the dastardly tom cat was quite sweet on my little girl Pearl.
Though vetted, vaccinated, and fixed, Gunther fought tooth and nail against the confines of a monogamous home life, choosing instead the wide open spaces of our neighborhood.
We still see him from time to time, strutting across the back yard. He puts in a quick appearance, and then moves on.
Back in January of last year, Better Half and Lucy took an evening stroll around the neighborhood. They saw something that struck a nerve.
Better Half asked, "Have you seen Gunther lately?"
“About a week ago. Why?”
"There's a streak of gray and white fur in the middle of the street about a block up from here." Better Half said sadly. "I think he may have been run over this weekend."
I sat stunned. "Are you sure?"
"There's not much left." Better Half said. "There is just a mash of fur the same color as he was."
I held my head in my hands, not wanting to believe that the little feline hobo had finally became a Madison Street statistic.
I could still see him sitting on the outside sill of the back bedroom window, making goo-goo eyes at my little Pink Foot, while she cooed and rolled on her back, patting the thin glass barrier between them.
Because of Feline Leukemia, Gunther was the only feline friend Pearl ever had. Though they were from different worlds, their relationship blossomed. Only the thin glass kept them from being truly together.
Now they were both gone and the world would be just a little bit sadder because of it.
Needless to say, that was a long weekend.
On Sunday night, Better Half was in the yard with the hounds while I stood on the deck looking out over the parking lot next door.
From the corner of my eye, I saw something move. I squinted in the dim streetlight to see what it was.
Out from under the back of a Jeep Cherokee strutted our dearly departed Gunther.
All I could say was, "You little **** (4 letter exclamatory word of affection and relief).
We couldn't have been happier. He looked up at me from the parking lot, nodded slightly, and then trotted off into the night.
I whispered to myself, "God, tack an angel to that blasted cat!"
I’m pretty sure he did.
Gunther and his guardian angel still stop by ever so often. It gives me comfort to know that, even though my little girl is gone, Gunther is still with us.
He will never be a house cat, but will always be the adopted rascal of our neighborhood,
and always have friends at Dogwood.
A long time ago, I wrote about a neighborhood stray cat named Gunther.
Before surgery snuffed out his romantic desires, the dastardly tom cat was quite sweet on my little girl Pearl.
Though vetted, vaccinated, and fixed, Gunther fought tooth and nail against the confines of a monogamous home life, choosing instead the wide open spaces of our neighborhood.
We still see him from time to time, strutting across the back yard. He puts in a quick appearance, and then moves on.
Back in January of last year, Better Half and Lucy took an evening stroll around the neighborhood. They saw something that struck a nerve.
Better Half asked, "Have you seen Gunther lately?"
“About a week ago. Why?”
"There's a streak of gray and white fur in the middle of the street about a block up from here." Better Half said sadly. "I think he may have been run over this weekend."
I sat stunned. "Are you sure?"
"There's not much left." Better Half said. "There is just a mash of fur the same color as he was."
I held my head in my hands, not wanting to believe that the little feline hobo had finally became a Madison Street statistic.
I could still see him sitting on the outside sill of the back bedroom window, making goo-goo eyes at my little Pink Foot, while she cooed and rolled on her back, patting the thin glass barrier between them.
Because of Feline Leukemia, Gunther was the only feline friend Pearl ever had. Though they were from different worlds, their relationship blossomed. Only the thin glass kept them from being truly together.
Now they were both gone and the world would be just a little bit sadder because of it.
Needless to say, that was a long weekend.
On Sunday night, Better Half was in the yard with the hounds while I stood on the deck looking out over the parking lot next door.
From the corner of my eye, I saw something move. I squinted in the dim streetlight to see what it was.
Out from under the back of a Jeep Cherokee strutted our dearly departed Gunther.
All I could say was, "You little **** (4 letter exclamatory word of affection and relief).
We couldn't have been happier. He looked up at me from the parking lot, nodded slightly, and then trotted off into the night.
I whispered to myself, "God, tack an angel to that blasted cat!"
I’m pretty sure he did.
Gunther and his guardian angel still stop by ever so often. It gives me comfort to know that, even though my little girl is gone, Gunther is still with us.
He will never be a house cat, but will always be the adopted rascal of our neighborhood,
and always have friends at Dogwood.
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