There are only three cats that I remember from my childhood. Mickey, shadow, and some siamese that fell off the roof and died. Stupid cat. Oh, and there was an insane persian that we had for a few months when I was sixteen or so.
Shadow was our second great cat, entirely black as his name would suggest. As far as I remember, he was a Christmas cat, appearing under the tree in a box Christmas morning. Or maybe I simply dreamed that part. I have a problem with my older memories in that my dreams have often been as vivid as, if not more vivid, than my "real" sensory memories. So some of my memories are memories of dreams and some of them are memories of events. It's hard to tell which is which.
Shadow was a great hunter. He would bring in mouse and bird guts and leave them as offerings in the house. Ahhh, the joyous sound of my father bellowing as he squished some new cat-created detritus between his toes. Good times.
One day in Washington... I was probably in the fifth grade, but who knows? ... Shadow got run over. Not so much squished by the tires of the steel monsters, but he collided with the spinning wheel of one. The impact broke his face.
I believe a neighbor clued us in, and my dad went and put him in a box. The whole family then travelled to the vet, frightened for the cat as he lay in his box and howled in pain and fear.
I was sick with it all, sitting in the back with the box, unable to do anything except listen. There was no comfort to give, none to receive. Just the sitting and the screaming from the cat.
The vet was able to fix him up, I don't know how or what, but the cat healed.
Shadow was a Burmese, I think -- or so I thought at the time. But instead of the proud nose of the breed, after the accident he had a fairly stubby proboscis. I always figured his face was reshaped by the accident, but it's entirely possible he was simply a mut and had a short face.
I'll probably never know.
Posted by Edwin at December 13, 2004 03:48 PM