{"id":1618,"date":"2013-11-03T17:17:29","date_gmt":"2013-11-03T21:17:29","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/abbykingsbury.org\/books\/?p=1618"},"modified":"2013-11-06T15:27:32","modified_gmt":"2013-11-06T19:27:32","slug":"r-i-p-pew","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/abbykingsbury.org\/books\/r-i-p-pew\/","title":{"rendered":"R.I.P. Pew"},"content":{"rendered":"

Like his namesake from\u00a0Treasure Island<\/em>, our feral feline friend Pew was struck and killed today, not by a stagecoach, but by a car.<\/p>\n

Pew showed up in the midst of trapping Mommy Cat and the five kittens this past summer. \u00a0I first saw him jammed into a kitten trap – he, an adult cat, had managed to stuff his whole body into the tiny kitten trap in order to get the sardines that we used as bait. \u00a0At that time I had assumed he was someone’s pet, but as the summer went on it became clear that Pew did not have a home, and he became more and more dependent on the food I put out on our deck.<\/p>\n

Jim named this all black cat Pew because he was so sad: tongue lolling out constantly, a cataract in his left eye which made the eye all milky white, and a scruffy coat. \u00a0Annette, the cat trapper, guessed that Pew was “a hundred years old” (she probably meant in cat years), and she also surmised that he didn’t have a tooth in his head, which would explain why his tongue always lolled out, hanging an inch or two down from his mouth. \u00a0If you know\u00a0Treasure Island<\/em>, you’ll know that the literary Pew was a blind beggar, a tragic figure who met his end under hooves and stagecoach wheels.<\/p>\n

Yesterday morning I got a good look at Pew – my last view of him alive, as it turned out – and he was looking a bit worse than usual. \u00a0His good eye was all runny and yucky looking, and he was particularly hungry, snarfing down all the canned Friskies and a lot of the dry kibbles that I put out for him. \u00a0Yesterday I thought, once again, that it would be a miracle if Pew could make it through the winter. \u00a0I’ve been worrying about how to best help him keep fed and warm, especially since he long ago proved to be more feral than stray: skittish and unwilling to come near me, though very willing to eat the three plus cans of food and also dry food that I put out for him each day.<\/p>\n

And then there is today. \u00a0Jim and I were going to head to Concord to have lunch at Helen’s, and I had just finished getting ready when I stepped into the kitchen and noticed the food in the bowl on the deck was gone. \u00a0“Who came and ate?” I asked Jim, since it could be either Pew or Mommy Cat. \u00a0“It was Pew,” Jim replied, “He was just here eating.”<\/p>\n

As Jim stood in our foyer putting his jacket on, he saw Pew in our driveway, heading towards the street. \u00a0Not many seconds later we were about to get into our car when Jim looked across the street and said, “Is that a cat?” \u00a0It was. \u00a0It was Pew, his body twitching its final twitches just on the side of the road, a smear of blood extending from the middle of the road to the side of his poor mangled head. \u00a0We hadn’t heard brakes, or a car horn, and there certainly wasn’t a car stopped in guilty horror to examine the poor cat that it had just hit. \u00a0 Just Pew, dying.<\/p>\n

We both went over and stood by Pew as he died, trying to decide what to do next. \u00a0Pew died quickly, probably a much more merciful death than if he had died of cold and hunger over the harshness of winter. \u00a0He had been hit mostly on the left side of his head, the side with the bad eye, so hopefully he never knew what hit him. \u00a0And he died with a full tummy, probably looking forward to a nice nap in the sun. \u00a0As he left us, I told Pew that he was a good cat, and gave him my love.<\/p>\n

Jim got first one, then another shovel, and together we slid Pew off the edge of the road and under the bushes a few feet in from the road. \u00a0Jim called the police department, and a very rude police officer said that he would let the highway department know and that they would take care of Pew’s body. \u00a0Perhaps we should have buried Pew in our yard, but let’s just say that Pew’s mercifully quick death left more than a bit of a mess, and we’re not up to taking care of his remains. \u00a0[Update: the highway department never came, so on Monday Jim buried Pew in our back yard, at the spot where we first saw him last summer. We both feel better knowing that Pew is home, cared for, and not dealt with as random roadkill by strangers.]<\/p>\n

Rest in peace, poor dear Pew. \u00a0I’m glad we could keep your belly full for your last few months; I’m sorry we couldn’t do more to make your life safe and easy.<\/p>\n

And to the callous idiot who hit Pew and didn’t even have the decency to stop and see if Pew needed help: \u00a0a pox upon you. \u00a0You were driving too fast, you didn’t even hit the brakes, and you didn’t care. \u00a0You do know that a black cat crossed your path today, and that you killed that cat, don’t you? \u00a0That can’t be good for you.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Like his namesake from\u00a0Treasure Island, our feral feline friend Pew was struck and killed today, not by a stagecoach, but by a car. Pew showed up in the midst of trapping Mommy Cat and the five kittens this past summer. \u00a0I first saw him jammed into a kitten trap – he, an adult cat, had … Continue reading R.I.P. Pew<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[41],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1618","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-cats-dogs-plants-animals"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/abbykingsbury.org\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1618","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/abbykingsbury.org\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/abbykingsbury.org\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/abbykingsbury.org\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/abbykingsbury.org\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1618"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"http:\/\/abbykingsbury.org\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1618\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1623,"href":"http:\/\/abbykingsbury.org\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1618\/revisions\/1623"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/abbykingsbury.org\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1618"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/abbykingsbury.org\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1618"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/abbykingsbury.org\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1618"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}