My cat just got killed.

So here I am, writing.

The postman came to deliver a 50-ounce reservoir for the pet fountain I'd gotten Evvie. She must've slipped out the door while I was taking the thing. She never went out in the front yard, only in the back, where she stayed inside the fence with Max.

The first inkling I had that something was wrong was a scuffle in the bushes outside the office. I heard a growl and a larger scuffle, and ran outside without even realizing why. There were the two dogs from across the street, Sammy and Veruca, with Evvie in between them.

They broke her back, or her neck. At any rate, it was quick. I chased Veruca out of the yard and across the neighbor's yard--she had Evvie in her mouth--and managed to scare her off on the other side of Preacher Paul's yard. Evvie was already dying at that point.

She didn't seem to be hurting. She was stretched out on her side, breathing slowly, and I petted her head and told her she was a good kitty and that I was there with her. She coughed three times, I guess because she started to fibrillate, and then her body relaxed and she was dead.

It's not all that different with a cat than it is with a human.

The woman--girl, really--who was in the house was much more freaked out than I was. I don't blame her, or the dogs...the dogs were doing what their breeds *do*. They hopped a huge chain-link fence to get out and run around, and Evvie just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

I wrapped Evinrude up in a pillowcase and buried her in the back yard, in a corner of the garden. Maybe I'll put some horrible little cat statue over her grave. In the meantime, though, there are cement stepping-stones over it to keep Max from digging. He was quite confused and concerned about the whole thing.

Evvie was thirteen. She was a horrible cat. She never caught a mouse in her life, and was prone to slash and bite without warning. Occasionally she would deign to let some privileged human, like Chef-Boy, pet her while she was on their lap. She hated dogs, vacuum cleaners, and brooms. She peed on the rug and scattered her food and water everywhere. She shed like a beast. 

Just before the postman knocked, she was stretched out, full-length, on my belly. She was letting me play with her paws, and purring. I'm glad she didn't die when I was pissed off at her, or when she had an empty belly or was cold. I loved her, in spite of her.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.