Samantha Webster Wright
I learned yesterday that our cat, Sam, died last week. Hit by a car. She had been missing for two weeks and we'd passed out fliers. Karen called to let me know that all our neighbors on Danville Street knew what had happened to her but wouldn't, couldn't tell us.
Sam was about eight. Half wild. Caught under a shed while Karen worked on a Christmas in April project. We almost called her Spook.
Sam was 9 pounds of pure energy. With eyes of gold and a tiger's spirit, never happy inside for more than 10 minutes, she spent her life terrorizing the neighboring cats and keeping the sparrow population within bounds. We learned early that her happiness depended on being able to leave and enter the house at will. She was totally miserable if house-bound. Unless, of course, she was curled up on my lap on Sunday morning reading the paper.
Sam died as both she and we preferred; able to visit her Mom (me) at will or sit outside viewing her domain and all foolish enough to venture into it.
We could have kept her inside. We could have kept her safe. But what kind of life would that have been?
Sam was about eight. Half wild. Caught under a shed while Karen worked on a Christmas in April project. We almost called her Spook.
Sam was 9 pounds of pure energy. With eyes of gold and a tiger's spirit, never happy inside for more than 10 minutes, she spent her life terrorizing the neighboring cats and keeping the sparrow population within bounds. We learned early that her happiness depended on being able to leave and enter the house at will. She was totally miserable if house-bound. Unless, of course, she was curled up on my lap on Sunday morning reading the paper.
Sam died as both she and we preferred; able to visit her Mom (me) at will or sit outside viewing her domain and all foolish enough to venture into it.
We could have kept her inside. We could have kept her safe. But what kind of life would that have been?
posted by arlingtondiver at 9:00 PM
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