Cats, cats, cats in life and death.

Thank gawd. The dead cat I've watched gradually decompose on a sidewalk in Carbonia in Sardinia, where I'm staying this winter, is gone. Somebody picked up the remains. Maybe the city street sweepers. Maybe a kind-hearted citizen thinking the cat needed a proper burial. Anyway, the cat is gone. And so is the stench from rotting flesh. For a month or so the gray cat was there. Prone. On it's side. I'm moved by the untimely death of an animal. On the roadside. Anywhere. Maybe even moved moreso than by the untimely death of real people. Maybe that doesn't say much for me. But there's something special about an animal, especially a cat or a dog, that draws me in. I want to believe that these animals have souls. That everything living has a soul. Something that survives after physical death. A spirit. Therefore, a carcass or corpse on the sidewalk shouldn't bother me. It's an abandoned, empty vessel. That once contained a soul/spirit. But still it does affect me. When it's an animal. I cry when one of my pets dies. I grieve. For a few days. Maybe a few weeks. I'm sad even when I see a dead cat on the sidewalk. Now there's another one. Down the road a half-mile. Near the gypsy camp. On the sidewalk. Where I walk. Daily. For three days now. A tan cat. Looks a little like a teddy bear. Soft, bushy fur. A very solid, muscular cat. In the prime of life. When it must have been thumped by a passing vehicle. Made it's way to the sidewalk. To die. Looks so peaceful. So tranquil. Maybe the spirit/soul is in a better place. Valhalla. Nirvana. Whatever the idyllic place is called. Maybe it'll take a month for the body to disappear. I won't know. Because I'm leaving in a week. Returning to the U.S. Where I'll be greeted by my two loving cats. Loverboy and Chenuska. It's been a while. I last saw them last September. They're household cats. Never go outdoors. Unless accompanied by me. I don't want them near the perilous road. --Jim Broede