This reminds me of something that happened some years ago. There was a knock on my door; since I live in the country, knocks on the door are highly unusual. There was a man there, asking if I owned a "brown" cat. I don't remember who all was living with me at that time, but I knew that no of them were "brown." It turned out the man had stopped - out of the kindness of his heart, I suppose - to tell me that there was a cat's body lying in the road in front of my property, and the man thought it must be mine. I told him it wasn't, but I'd take care of it; I thanked him, and he left. The cat's body was, indeed, that of a large orange tabby. I have no idea from where he had come; there are so few houses around here. In any event, I picked up his body and carried it to the back; being a "senior citizen" woman, I don't have the strength to dig much of a grave, but I found a bit of a hole in a pile of soil in the back and did the best I could to bury the body. I hope that he'll be one of those meeting me at the Bridge when it's my turn. At least he knows that someone cared that he had passed.