We’ve had a break in the weather recently and it has been almost tropical! By break I mean that it is hovering around 30 degrees. It’s amazing how 30 degrees can feel like a heat wave after surviving the brutality of below zero temps.
My youngest is still at the age where he enjoys the outdoors. He remains undefiled by Xbox or other indoor electronic crack. He is a fresh air loving, peace dealing, one with nature kinda dude. This weather “break” has been a slice of heaven for him and he spends most of his time outside.
Yesterday wasn’t any different as he frolicked and slid across the remaining ice. I smiled as I watched him perfect his tuck and roll maneuver…a necessary skill to master in our home. He eventually approached the back door and said with deep concern,
“Mom, Winston (cat) won’t get up…even when I knock on him he won’t move…he just keeps sleeping!”
Our cat is the most tempered Tabby that I know of. He is the definition of patience and has often been dragged, choke hold style across the yard by nature boy. He was also hurled off of our upper landing, by our then 5yr old daughter, when she wanted to test the claim Animal Planet made that cats will always land upright! HOWEVER, nature boy’s description of the tempered tabby was pushing the patience threshold.
“Knock?” I asked.
“Yea, he’s hard. And his eyes are open – they are a whitish blue!”
Nature boy has had very little exposure to death. He will not even kill a bug because it is “a living creature.” See, I told you we had hippy (click to read) in our gene pool somewhere. The only dead creatures he sees are road kills or the maimed and mutilated rodents that the cat delivers to the sacrificial altar. They are usually bloody and often decapitated with their entrails hanging out.
A stiff cat that you can knock on like a door screams death but it was clear that nature boy wasn’t thinking rigor mortis.
I walked out on the porch and sure enough…beloved Winston was rock solid. Our tempered tabby of 9 years was dead. My youngest looked at me with the “my mommy can fix anything look” and I felt so helpless. Winston could not be fixed, he could only be buried.
But how do you bury something when the ground is frozen???? I can’t dump him in the woods. He deserves better. I discussed it with the hubs and he quickly black bagged Winston until first thaw, I guess. But now that I think about it, I better check to see where he put that black bag because the last time he blacked bagged anything it was a racoon and it ended up in my freezer!