Kōwhai is gone

I was in the kitchen, and I looked out the window, and I could see the lady on the other side of the street, hunched over him and weeping.  I couldn't see that it was him, but I think I knew.

He was spooked today when I got home, him and Atawahai both, skittish and darting around.  My son told me, it was because of the fireworks.  The lady who was crying, she saw the whole thing.  He'd run across the road - uncharacteristic for him - and that was when he got hit.

And so I want to ask the people in our neighbourhood who let off those fireworks, day and night, at all times of the year, to consider whether your silly pleasure is worth other beings' pain.

And I want to say something to the driver.  I can forgive you for hitting Kōwhai, because sometimes stuff can go wrong.  Maybe you panicked in the moment – I guess I can understand that too.  But after the moment, when you understood what you'd done, I am struggling to know why you didn't turn around, to see if there was something you could do.  I don't believe he suffered, but we are.  

But above all, I want to say something to the lady who saw it, and who hunched over him.  I don't know who you are.  You were distraught, your tears running onto your facemask, and I didn't know what to do except to give you a hug and a kiss, and thank you – because in his last moment you were there, with compassion and care, doing the best that you could.  That's all that any of us can ask of another.

Atawhai and Kōwhai started out together, a life that was hard, before they were found by people who loved them.  And they were best buddiess.  They were meant to grow old together, in cat years, and stomp around at 5:30am annoying the hell out of me until their arthritic paws got too aged.  

The nutty stomping. That's how I'll remember my little guy, and it will take time, but one day I will smile and laugh.

Loving is shitty sometimes, because it ends in hurt, but you've still got to.