I've been reading these posts and enjoying these daily kitties for about a year but this is the first time i've felt i had to register so i could warn Tofu's mom of what is going to happen to him within 2 or 3 years, if he's lucky. sooner if he's not. read this story. YOU REALLY NEED TO READ THIS:
I got up in the morning just like any other day, put up the water for coffee and went to feed Stevie, my cat. We went through our daily routine: I opened a can of Friskies Tuna Feast (or whatever it happened to be that day), Stevie jumped up on the chair near the kitchen counter and I held out the open can for him to smell and, ostensibly, accept or reject like fine wine at a nice restaurant. Of course, no matter what I had opened was what he was getting, but we both enjoyed the routine. Stevie sniffed the tuna, expressed his acceptance, and I put half the can in his bowl. Stevie took two little bites and ran out the door. He frequently liked to know that the food was there awaiting him, then would go out and work up an appetite. I sat down with my coffee, returned to the book I was reading and what seemed like a minute went by and my phone rang.
"Do you have a cat named Stevie?" asked a female voice.
It sounded like some sort of solicitation for a new pet store or something, yet deep in my mind I knew something was wrong.
"Yes," I said. "Who is this?"
"Your cat's in the street. He's been run over."
I immediately looked all around -- hadn't it just been seconds before Stevie was right here?
"No, my cat's right here," I replied, not seeing Stevie.
"No he's not," continued the patient woman. "He's right here in the street."
I walked out to the front of the building, still on the cordless phone, looked left and didn't see anything. The woman's voice said, "We're right behind you."
I turned around and there was a group of five or six people standing in the middle of the street. I ran over and saw the woman speaking to me on a cell phone standing in front of a big Jeep filled with a family all looking at me sadly through the windows. I looked down and there was Stevie -- his gray and white fur was covered with blood, his tongue was sticking out, his eyes were glassy like marbles -- he was quite obviously dead. I picked up Stevie's warm and completely flaccid body and carried him back to my apartment, his home for the past four years.