The Shattered Prayer

I’m having trouble getting the image of the blood out of my head. Just when I think I’ve calmed down, the image of that cat’s face and paws, spotted with red, comes back into my mind.

It happened this morning. I walked to the nearest convenience store to get food for the kitties. When I came out of the store I saw a black and white cat sitting in the middle of the road. It got hit twice before I could even get to the side of the street. I ran out into oncoming traffic, the busiest road in town. The cat was still sitting up when I got to him, but I knew he was hurt bad because he didn’t fight me or even seem to notice when I picked him. He only struggled a little and didn’t make any noise. By the time I got him to the side of the road, he’d died in my hands; he just went limp and there was no life left in him.

I don’t really much remember getting back to the hotel. I just remember crying at the top of my lungs. I had to walk back with the kitty’s blood still on my hands and shirt. Someone stopped and picked me up when I was nearly back to the hotel, and talked to me for a little while until I was calmer.

But I’m not much calmer really. I just keep thinking about the blood and the feeling of a beautiful creature dying in my hands, and then get upset all over again. Its made me fearful for my own babies, made me realise how vulnerable they are. I love them so much.

Recently:

• Super-Sister
• Writing Weekend
• A Coda on CoDA
• Did Plurk Kill the Shattered Prayer?
• Happy Birthday Bea!
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• Welcome back Mojo and Richard.
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• Those custom Plurk profiles.