A box by the road

Yesterday, Rob asked me about a box on our curb. It had a towel and a car floor mat in it. I didn’t recognize either, but figured that someone had pulled it out of their car while loading some yardsale item in. Granted, it hadn’t been there the day of the yard sale, but neither of us could think of another reasonable idea.

Today, the towel blew off the box.

There’s been this stray cat hanging around our house for about a month. It’s a poor scrawny thing, with patchy fur. It was in the box. I wanted it to be sleeping, but what cat would sleep inches away from a busy road?

Someone must have hit it with their car and tried to find the owner. I mean, they took the time to stop and put it in the box and cover it with the towel. I wonder if they picked our house because that’s where the cat was headed or because one of our neighbors told them that we have a black cat.

I’ve got this strange mix of sadness and relief. The sadness is easy to understand. But the relief? She never looked happy and she’s not struggling to survive anymore. That’s not it though, not really. I’m relieved that she wasn’t my cat. I’m relieved that I know she was feral and that no one is sitting at home wondering where she is. And then that makes the sadness comes back around.

The county animal control is coming to pick up the body.

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4 thoughts on “A box by the road”

  1. Sigh. These last 2 posts are hard. Much sadness, limbo, closure. I remember leaving NYC for Portland, that last night in my apartment, lying on the bare floor, amongst the boxes, gazing out the window at the Empire State Building, sobbing.

    The change was a good one. A start is happening too… soon.

    still, sigh.

  2. Rob buried the cat in the backyard yesterday, because we didn’t want her to stay by the road over the weekend. As he was doing it, we noticed that whoever hit the cat left a note. It was very simple stating the time and date, that there were no tags and then finished with, “Sweet Kitty, peace.”

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