The End of a Story
But it wasn’t supposed to end like this.
After ten days of forced confinement, followed by four more days of simply choosing to stay in the basement, Moochie finally decided to return to the great outdoors. He returned the next day and snoozed in the shade of my front porch.
The last time I saw him, he was curled up in the wicker chair next to the door.
Sometime between Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning, he was hit by a car and killed as he crossed the road near our house.
After all he and I went through recently—the bite, the rabies scare, the confinement—I’d become attached to the ol’ guy. He’d finally started using the litter box, so he wasn’t such a bad houseguest there at the last.
But he was, in his heart and soul, an outdoor cat. A free spirit with a touch of wanderlust.
Did he simply run out of his supply of nine lives? Did being a pampered indoor cat for two weeks weaken his survival skills or his road smarts? I don’t know. But I’m glad I was able to spend those last two weeks getting to know ol’ Moochie better. He was well fed and got a lot of attention and petting during those days in my basement. Even though he’d bit me and sent me to the ER, I still liked the old reprobate.
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