He was a she. Somali was her name. Long, gray fur. Blind, deaf, very old and much missed.
I saw these words on a missing paper attached to a tree on my way home today. And her picture. I felt the urge of telling them. I felt I had to. After being partly responsible for the death of their cat, I had to tell them. And it was awkward and terrible.
I approached the house. The woman came out to throw away the litter and I told her that I knew what happened to her cat. I used pretty much the same words I used in my post. Her husband came out and she told him the bad news. I felt sorry. Incredibly sorry. But I think I did the right thing. They had to know.
I felt like she didn't really trust me. She was inquisitive about the cat's body. I had no idea where it went. The people who keep the road clean must have collected it and thrown it somewhere. She asked me if I saw her dying. And I said yes. I recollected the scene and it was horrible. I hope they believed I am really sorry for what happened. Cause I am.
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