Cat

This was first published privately on 17 May 2008:

Saturday. So there I am. Full of the joys of spring, even in the rain. Come trolling out of the house. Climb into car, turn engine on. Look to right. See cat lying on driveway. Not my cat. Someone else’s. Dead. Dead as a doornail, in fact. Not been there too long, but long enough. Turn engine off, go to have closer look. Beautiful thing, look of a pedigree about it. Don’t recognise it. Not a mark on it. Really peaceful. What to do? Tell wife and daughter. Shudders and pulled faces. No help there, will have to move it myself. Just check neighbours first. No, Peter doesn’t know. Kevin, however, has had a note through door – please check shed for missing cat. Called Tango. Oh God. Go to Tango’s house. Raining. 3 men outside, building a wall. You lost a cat? Yes. Sorry, mate, I think he’s outside my house. Dead. OK, I’ll come and get him. Walks back with me. Sees cat. He’s not mine. Not Tango? No, he’s smaller, wears a collar, paler. I’ve got black sacks. He helps me pick it up. Stiff as a board. We put it in sack. He leaves. I call council. Emergency number. Not sure if it is emergency. But what else to do? Really sympathetic man. We’ll send someone round. Leave it by the front gate. We’ll check for chip and tell owner. Do so. Rain stops. 30 minutes later. Sack's gone. Very impressive. Could have been a dream. Except ….. except that there’s still a cat silhouette. On the drive. Where it stayed dry beneath it in the rain. Like a murder victim’s chalkmark. I’m strangely upset.