petermorwood - Diane's cat Beemer...

petermorwood - Diane's cat Beemer...

petermorwood

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Diane's cat Beemer...

[Jun. 15th, 2009|10:03 pm]

[	Current Location	\|	At home	]
[	mood	\|	depressed	]
[	music	\|	none	]

It's been more than six months since my last post, and I suppose this one is a Last Post of another sort.

On Saturday 13th June at about 6 p.m., Beemer was hit and killed by a car, on the same 10-metre stretch of road that has already claimed Bubble and Pip.

By 8 p.m. we were wondering why she was late for dinner. Then I glanced out of the upstairs window and saw something black-and-white lying on the verge just beyond our gate. Like the last two times, it happened that close to the house. No more than the width of a broad country lane from home and safety. All the way down the three-at-a-time stairs and out of the house I hoped it was just a piece of windblown paper. I should have known better. Our luck hasn’t been that good for months.

Beemer was stretched out in the warm June evening as if she was asleep. Yes, it’s a cliché, but we have photos of her snoozing in that same pose. She wasn't even dirty, so her white bib and boots and mittens were as neat as ever. When I lifted her, she had the same clean scent of fresh laundry she always picked up when she was out in the open air. But she wasn't sleeping this time. Her fur was still soft, but her body was already stiff.

It’s been just two days since the accident happened, and the house feels very strange. She was such a quiet little thing that we often didn't know if she was in or out, yet there are empty places and odd silences all over. No tiny demure mew requesting food, or milk, or attention, or a lap to sit on. No rustle of paper from the box where she slept in my office. Two mornings without the tickle of whiskers and insistent head-bump that meant someone (usually Diane) should get out of bed and open a can of breakfast. Two nights without a small body edging onto the lounger around midnight, which is when Beems decided it belonged to her...

She would snuggle on that chair with Squeak because, even though they were both neutered, as senior male and female they were the top mates of our little pride. It's sad to watch him peering under the sofa where she used to hide when she’d had enough playing, and sadder still to see him sitting by the gate, waiting for her to come home. We let Squeak and Goodman examine her body, and – we’ve seen it too many times, because they’ve now outlived four companions – both seemed aware that this might look and smell like Beemer, but what made it her wasn't there any more. I think they know she won’t be back. They just won’t accept it yet.

But at least we know. We didn’t have to hunt up and down into nightfall, calling without an answer. We’ll have no days of wondering what really happened. Most of all, we won't have an ugly mess as a bad last memory of our kitty. I dug her grave in the shade of the big hawthorn tree, alongside Kasha and Lilith and Bubble and Pip. Then we wrapped her in the cover of her favourite cushion, laid her in her last bed, covered her up and came away.

Beemer got her name from the car we’d rented to deal with errands before heading out to CONvergence in 2002. We’d collected our plane tickets and were on our way home, but stopped when we saw what seemed to be (and was) an abandoned kitten at the roadside. We adopted her – or she adopted us, we were never quite sure – and gave her a longer and I hope happier life than if we’d kept on driving. Now that life is over.

Diane said it best; "We found her by the road, and we lost her by the road." For the seven years in between, she was our friend. Now she’s with the friends who’ve gone before. Sleep well, Beems. We miss you.

link

Comments:

From:

silverwhistle
2009-06-15 09:45 pm (UTC)

(Link)

I am so sorry: poor kitty. My sincerest sympathies.

Aw no...

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