I was working yesterday. Late afternoon I checked my phone when I got a chance as I always do in case my daughter and her little ones need me. It turned out I had a missed call from before work, that I didn’t see or hear as I slept in and wash rushing. It was the stored vets number. For only a fraction of time I thought maybe a vaccination reminder or overdue, until I remembered it was Sunday and then I just knew. It was then I realised in my rush I hadn’t noticed Dylan had failed to appear for breakfast.
I had to ring my husband and ask him to chase things up and return the call. He was told Dylan had been brought in on Saturday night already deceased after being hit by a car, in the lane behind us. As soon as I got home I knew I had to bring him home immediately to be with me, and the vet was so accommodating and thoughtful. Sh3 said it unwise to see him, but I asked could she uncover his nose as he loved nose rubs and kisses, and a paw so I could sooth him and believe it was him.
Once home I sat for a few hours cradling him, stroking his paws and kissing his nose. Smelling and cuddling him. When I realised blood was coming through his towel and on my hands and face I knew I had to let him go. He is buried alongside my other lost pets.
Last night I didn’t sleep, and I can’t eat and feel sick. The smell of blood permeates everything. I was drawn to put the final bit of his leaving me into place by walking the lane, but it became evident almost immediately that whoever found him mixed up the name of the 2 very similar lanes, ours and the one behind, as there was a very obvious dried pool of blood alongside next doors area of road. This leaves me with mixed feelings of putting to bed the idea he was lost and panicking, to he was so close to home he was just doing his thing and got unlucky, to he was SO close to home, a change in seconds and he would be walking in the door as usual.
I got Dylan at 3 months old. A beautiful black moggy who never grew after about 5 months leaving him in permanent kitten cuteness. I used to add squirts whipped cream to his diet hoping to at least bulk him up so he could defend himself, and he became a cream addict with me his pimp. He followed me everywhere for his every waking moment. Everywhere! Always quizzical. We were so bonded. Every look from him was an adoring slow blink and I returned every one. Every bowl of food was thanked for with a scent rub across my face. Every morning was a gentle pat on my eyelids to wake me up. He stole all my make up brushes… I’m so scared of the time I know they will resurface in the future. He stole all our sink plugs. My granddaughters dummies. He played fetch. If he came in the house and I was busy, I would feel a presence and on turning he would be sat to attention behind me as if on duty, just waiting to say hello, like a weird little black stalker.
He was only one, and his whole crazy loving life has been violently extinguished just like that. No platitudes help because it is just… that.