2007-01-06 - 7:30 p.m.

I don’t know what is going on. I mean…if karma existed, and I really, really believed that it did exist (though not by the power of a god…more like, I believed that karma existed within oneself and that is why bad things rarely happen to bad people. I am a good person and therefore, if I do something bad (which I have done), I am going to repent, I am going to make myself, consciously or subconsciously, repent.). And I suppose that I can still believe in it (but don’t) because what has been happening around me isn’t really something I am making happen because I need karmic recourse…but fuck. I am a good person. I am a better person than I have ever been. And the one thing that I have never…not for a moment, lapsed in goodness about is my cats. So…why….why….why….does this cat stuff keep happening?? I mean seriously…my cats, for the first six or seven years Oscar, Smudge and Bubba lived me, had free access to the outdoors. They pretty much came and went as they pleased. There was an incident where Bubba got locked in a garage down the road for nearly a week…but once I found him (by sitting outside for every hour that I didn’t have to work and listening for him…after I had posted signs all over the place and gone house to house asking about him) it was just a matter of him running to the food dish and eating for about an hour and everything was good. And Bear…FUCK…Bear was “the garage cat” next door when I finally took him in. I mean, he was a stray and would sneak into my neighbor’s garage to sleep. And…I lived on a busy-ish road. And my cats didn’t exactly stay out of the road. For the most part…yeah. But every so often I would see one sitting in the middle of the street or darting across the street. I almost expected something car related to happen back in our old life. My cats like to be outside. They want to be outside way more than they want to be inside and I, being fair, have always honored that for them. For me, a life lived the way you want it, more or less, is better than a protected life in which you can’t be where you want to be. Even if that means that your life is cut short. At some point, I made the cat door inoperable and kept the cats inside when I wasn’t home. I figured that they could live half the day the way they wanted and half the day the way I needed them to. It was a good compromise. And I adhere to it to this day. The cats are allowed outside from the moment I wake until the moment the sun sets. Unless I leave…then I bring them in. In this way I have believed that I was keeping them from the most harm. And…we have WALLS around our yard. Actual STONE WALLS. So, while the cats are able, and do, jump over the wall to the meadow in front of our house…they can’t, or so I thought, get over the wall that goes to the street. And…furthermore…the street we live on is the least busy street you can imagine. So how today happened … ????

I was cleaning my bathroom and Eric yelled, “catfight!” and I scurried outside and everything seemed fine. So I kind of meandered around the yard for a minute checking things out (because there is a neighborhood cat that sometimes gets into our yard and causes trouble…the last time I found him trapped on the garage roof with my Fishy Cat poised to eat him if he moved. Then I went in the house to put some clothes on, because I couldn’t find Fishy Cat and for some reason, though this has never happened, it suddenly occurred to me that she might have jumped over the roof and gotten into the street to chase a cat. Unlikely…but, she was no where to be found and that was pretty much the only option. I remember feeling a certain sense of hurry when I was pulling a shirt over my head and I rushed outside and I heard strange sounds, animal sounds and at the same time I saw a man trying to start his car. I yelled, “NO!!!!!” and he and the other occupants of the car stared at me and I was under his car within a second and I saw her ear. Under the belly of the car. Trapped. Pinned. She wasn’t breathing well and there were tufts of hair all over the place. I screamed for Eric and he came running out and he was under the car and then…for an undetermined amount of time…two, three hours??? he and other people that slowly filtered in worked to free her. She was so twisted in there…sucked in by a belt and thrown against the underbelly….and nothing they did helped loosen her. And the insurance company wouldn’t send a tow truck to help because of some reason or another and the fire department basically laughed when their help was requested…but the police showed up. And they actually helped. We had a lot of help for being in a country where people basically think of cats as rats. Between Eric and the police guy they got her free. And I have to say that I was expecting that she was going to have to be put to sleep. I mean, she was twisted through a belt and pinned upside down against the underbelly of the car. For hours. And right now I can’t say for certain that she is okay…because we are waiting for the vet to call us (of course today is a fucking holiday here and no one is working) so we can take her to get checked out. And she’s walking a little weirdly and so far hasn’t said a word (which is very unlike her)….but she ate and drank and ran to the house and then upstairs and under the bed and when I wouldn’t leave her alone there she walked to the office and went behind the couch. Two weeks ago I said that Squishy Cat’s coma thing was the worst thing I have ever experienced…today, a mere two weeks later, I say that this was the worst thing. Because Squishy Cat had help and was able to be helped as much as we could…Fishy was trapped and for a while there it looked like there was nothing that we could do. Because Porsche (of course she got stuck in a $90,000 Porsche) wouldn’t send anyone to help and the insurance company wouldn’t help and the tow company couldn’t do anything because they weren’t authorized…and it’s a holiday so even if they towed the car to a garage where a mechanic could free her…they wouldn’t be there until Monday and she wasn’t able to breathe or move and she was twisted through a fucking belt. All I could see was an ear, her eye, her nose and the tip of her tail. It was awful. She was bleating and drooling and…it was all I could do to not fall into a heap in the middle of street (which I did later) in order to not traumatize the little girl that was one of the occupants of the Porsche. I mean, that little girl didn’t need to be there for any of it and they got her out of there as fast as they could. They were good people.;

ANYWAY…finally, somehow, some bolt was taken away that allowed them to untwist her and she ran towards the house and thankfully had enough sense to stop and let me pick her up (because there is no way into our yard/house without going through a gate) and carry her in.

I just don’t get this. I don’t understand why life here has been one disaster after another? Why? It’s as though we are cursed here. All of us. Bubba, Squish and now Fish have all been on deaths doorstep since we came here two years ago. Before that, when they had a more dangerous life, the worst thing that had happened was one night while I was sleeping the window crashed down on Bear’s tail and he was trapped for all of thirty seconds (and broke his tail). AND HE WAS “GARAGE CAT”. I don’t want to move home….at all….but I think that it might be the best thing to do before something else happens.


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