I have semi-nice neighbors. What I mean by that is when I wave at them in passing, they’ll keep their middle fingers to themselves. I’m pretty sure the reason they dislike me is because I dislike their dog. And by dislike, I mean boil with hatred. Perhaps I’m being rash, perhaps it isn’t all the dog’s fault…after all, it is in a Rottweiler’s natural instincts to eat his neighbor’s cats. Which brings me to my point. I started out with 7 cats. One belongs to my gramma (one we still have), one was mine, and 5 were mine’s kittens. One kitten died the morning after birth, ok, I dealt with that. One was stepped on, got its jaw broken and we didn’t know it, and it ended up starving to death because we found out too late and nothing could be done. I cried, I had a funeral, I moved on.
Now we’re down to 5 cats. I hear a commotion in the neighbor’s backyard one day, I step out my backdoor, and see them pulling their dog off of one of my cats. Sandy. She was lying on the ground, no blood, so the thing I was most worried about was her incision (she had been spayed less than a week before this). I jumped the fence, picked her up, took her in the house, layed her on a towel on the table, and proceeded to check her out. As I expected, her incision was wide open. I attempted to clean it out with peroxide when I noticed that there were more holes. The placement of the holes meant she didn’t bleed hardly at all, but I knew then that she was done for, as it was around 7 pm, two hours after the vet had closed. I wrapped her in the towel and held her to my chest, and she died not five minutes later. Another funeral.
Down to four. My gramma comes back to my room a few weeks after Sandy’s incident, and tells me I need to rush Patrick to the vet, he’s on the front porch. I go to the front porch, and I see him lying there, not moving, barely breathing, and it’s apparent by his face that he’s in shock. He’s covered in dog slobber from guess who. I wrap him in a towel, drive 50 mph down first street to the vet, Doc takes him back and tells me he’ll call with any information, and does everything he can to save my cat. I get a call an hour later, Patrick never came out of shock, and his internal injuries would have killed him anyway. Another funeral.
Three left. My gramma’s cat, my cat, and one of my cat’s babies. This one happened a little over two weeks ago, on May 9th. (The others were in Feburary '04) I’m standing in the backyard talking to my cousin, when I happen to glance over into the neighbor’s back yard. I see my favorite cat, my momma cat, on the ground, broken and bloody. I’m freaking out now, you could hear me wailing down the block, I’m sure. I go over there and get my cat, and she’s already getting stiff. I carry her to my own backyard, find a box for her, and go in to change my shirt so I can wrap her for burial in the one I was wearing when I picked her up. Another funeral, this one the worst. I loved that cat, she used to crawl under the covers with me at night. Not anymore.
Now all I have left is one of my cat’s daughters, and my gramma’s cat. Did you know I’ve never had the same cat for more than two years?!? Dogs always fucking eat them. Even when I was little, a dog ate my cat. I’ve decided that I’m not getting any more animals, I’ll just enjoy everyone else’s.
Someone is going to pay. I’m either letting the dog loose for the dog catcher (which I doubt I’ll do, since it’s not really the dog’s fault, I know, the whole instinct thing), or I’m going to torment my neighbor’s for the rest of the time they live there. They moved here from some other state, I can’t remember where, and they have that “we’re from _____ so that makes us better than you” attitude. I have plenty of friends who would egg their house for ten bucks.
So, there’s my first pitting. I feel better now. Well, not really, but still.
Oh, I do have one last photo of my cat, one that I took the day after she died. Before you go accusing me of being some kind of beastiality/necro freak, have a look: Banque en Ligne 2021 - Le guide étape par étape pour choisir facilement I believe that’s her, right there above the dumpster, in the neighbor’s yard. If you don’t think it is, please, leave me alone in my beliefs. I need this.
