Where'd He Go?

 

[My friend, Dodger.]

Ruru the Cat here. It's no secret I don't love dogs. Or cats. Or anyone with fewer than two hands eager to pet me. But Dodger was different. He was actually NICE. He mostly made for great body heat and a fine piece of furniture. He's been around as long as I can remember, just being there. He'd stand by and let me eat his food. He'd let me sit on him if I was cold. He was just nice. To me. Which is kind of weird because most of the four-legged beasts around here chase me around, attack my tail just for kicks, or push me away to steal my dog food. But Dodger didn't. 

[Dodger put up with a lot.]

He was strong and happy for a long time. He gave the people around me puppies, three living ones and one that wasn't. He even tolerated their insanity when they were jumping all over him and chewing on them. He'd growl at them to say back off, but then, he'd pretend not to notice when they played with his tail. They all kind of look like him if you squint the right way. 

[Dodger put up with Bean.]

He even tolerated Bean. And that's kind of a big deal because that eternal puppy is a little monster. All of the cats, even the ones a lot bigger than him, kind of let him have his way. We even sneak around him when it comes to getting love from our favorite person. Dodger and Bean would often fight over the food or...I don't know. Dog things. Not sure what all that growling was about. But Dodger was even nice to the mini monster named Bean. 

[Dodger endured a lineup of kittens.]

And kittens. He put up with those little beasts as well. I sure wouldn't, but he did. He really brought it on himself, I guess, by not putting them in their place. They could climb all over him, and he just took it. Everyone seemed to love him because he loved everyone, including people I can't stand, the notorious strangers. Even when those strangers are toddlers. 

[He had to be hauled around.]

Three or four years ago, my people started saying Dodger was dying. But they got that crazy idea from the demon called the vet, so I didn't trust it. He was fine. He was just there. Then, one day, something was wrong. He didn't seem to want to eat. I would have gotten more food except the other cats got to it first. Two and a half weeks, ago, he stopped being able to climb or even walk well. He started to stumble. Then, he stopped being able to do anything but be hauled around. 

[He stopped responding.]

Then, he was only breathing and staring out into space. Then, he was gone. I checked. I sat on him. He was hard and had no body heat, even under the blanket. Then, my people talked about putting him in the ground. I can't imagine that would be very pleasant at all. I don't like to go outside. I certainly wouldn't like to be under the cold, snowy ground. And he hasn't come back. The dogs always go out, but they always come back. The kittens would go out and not come back, but I always heard they'd found a new place to be. I've heard the word "death," mostly about animals I didn't care about. Or my people's little human kitten, their baby, but that was long before I joined them. The humans sure seem to produce a lot of tears about this kind of thing, including for Dodger. But this is the first time it has become real to me. I guess he's really not coming back. I'm not sure how to feel about that. So I guess I'll go and take a nap.