Yesterday morning my neighbor from across the street called, worried that one of our little Hobo Grandkitties had been run over by a car. Having kept up with the on going saga of life in our garage and back yard over the past year or so, she described the little little black one with white paws. She spotted the remains while walking her dog and was upset; her voice shook with emotion, alerting us of the loss.
We’d lost Princess Hobo Kitty under similar circumstances in January. It’s hard to explain how these little ones attach themselves to our heartstrings so easily; but they do, even the ones we haven’t named.
I took a plastic disposal bag and walked the short distance to retrieve the body, a terribly long walk when gauged in emotional steps. The distorted body was not how I wanted to remember the little fuzz ball as I carefully wrapped it in plastic and walked back toward where Lucy was already in tears.
This is why we work so hard to explain, “Look both ways before crossing the street”. They forget these words of admonition or get caught up in the excitement of exploring their new world; a costly mistake which cannot be undone. Okay, so we didn’t actually tell the kittens to look both ways before crossing the street; we said, “Stay in yard”, they’re much too young to be crossing the street.
Lucy went looking for Silver Bubba’s junior look-a-like grandkitten in the garage only to spot the little black one, the one with white paws wandering around in the cool shadows. We wondered whose kitten had been run over since it clearly wasn’t the one we thought at first; come to think of it, the other did seem a bit older by maybe a few weeks.
This morning I looked out the back window and standing by the water bowl was our little black and white Hobo Grandkitten. We’ll name him Mark Twain because reports of his death were greatly exaggerated.