Lynn and Kathleen, Cat Murder

 Bennie giving me a cuddle

As I stood on the deck for my evening meditation I noticed Bennie running along the top of the fence separating us from our neighbor as is her habit. 

“Hey Ben-ben,” I called out softly as she ran by me, lithe little body disappearing into the night. I had spent all afternoon playing with her and Possum and felt like they were warming to me again after having been away for months. 

I went inside and was chatting with Sian in the living room when I began to hear cat yowls outside. 

Bennie. Possum. 

I quickly went to the back door thinking I’d see one of them fighting or “fighting” another cat. Instead I saw our neighbor’s pack of half feral dogs outside. The yowling went quiet, I thought they had already killed it. My heart dropped. 

“Oh my god, Sian, the dogs. What do we do?” I said, panicked; my heart already beginning to beat fast. 

Sian came up behind me. I saw the cat dart across the yard towards the house with the dogs following and heard the yowling start up again. I saw the dog shake the cat, its body outstretched in flashes of orange and white. I thought it must be Possum with her white underbelly and orange markings. 

“Stop!” I began to call out. Softly at first but wait, why did I care whether I woke anyone up? “STOP!!!!!!” I began to bellow in my Mean Dog Scaring Voice that I used to use with Mom’s dogs. Sian joined me. This brought the neighbor out and she began to shout too. I looked around inside for something, anything, to throw at the dogs to stop them. I couldn’t see anything; the cat was still yowling. 

God, Nichola is going to be devastated, I thought. 

I took off running and vaulted the tall fence separating our yards. As soon as I made it over I realized that I was not wearing shoes and that their yard is a horrific mess. Trying to step lightly to avoid nails and god knows what else, I went for the dogs. I intended to hit them with something but they ran around the side of the house, cat no longer yowling. Sian went around the front of the house so I reached the cat first, near the side door. 

It’s not Possum. I had thought it was, had been so terrified for gumpy little Possum with her fat butt and little sister personality. Possum is mostly tabby, this one was orange and white and barely alive. The relief I felt almost made me feel bad. A pair of old ladies came out of the side door. 

“It’s not our cat,” I said, panting. My heart was thudding from the adrenaline. “It’s orange.”

“Oh!” the older one exclaimed. “Oh it’s ours!” I helped the elderly lady (Lynn) down the stairs and down the driveway to the cat’s body and then went to the front fence to let Sian in the gate. The three of us stared at the little cat, barely alive. 

There’s a bit of conversation here I can’t remember in order: lots of “oh my gods” and “oh nos” and “poor things”. Somewhere in this, Sian wraps the cat in a towel and is cuddling it. 

“Oh my god!” Sian said. “Let’s get it to an emergency vet!” She began googling.

“Oh no dear, I think what we should do is just kill it,” Lynn replied.

She quickly realized that Sian was horrified by this and I practically watched her make the decision to drag out the time until the cat died.  She backtracked. 

“Oh no, I don’t think any vets are open,” she replied. 

Sian replied that she had found one, a 24 hour vet. 

“Alright, walk me up the drive and I’ll get my bank card.”

Sian carried the cat wrapped in a towel while Lynn clutched my arm and we walked slooooowly up the driveway and into the house. Sian and I stood in the hallway for a bit petting and talking softly to the dying cat while Lynn stepped into a back room. She came back and instructed Sian to lay the cat on the sofa and she put her hand inside the towel. 

“Oh Shumba, oh Shumba,” she said. “He’s dead,” she announced. The cat flicked its ear, barely. 

Sian looked uncertain and they began to discuss whether or not it was still alive. It definitely was. 

“Look, he’s dead,” she said, shaking the cat’s neck. It definitely was now. 

Lynn began to tell us stories about the cats she’d had. Shumba and his sister LulaBelle were the children of other cats they’d had. At one point they had 21 cats but they’ve been slowly lost or killed. Kathleen interrupted 

“They probably don’t want to be hearing about all this.”

“I need to keep talking! Oh! I can’t! Oh, my cat!” Lynn exclaimed, the first bit of emotion she showed over the ordeal. 

Sian comforted her and I put a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, I need a hug,” Lynn said. I embraced her bony shoulders. 

Kathleen began to make tea and Lynn began to tell us stories, satisfied now with the attention back on her. Tired of hovering over Lynn’s shoulder, I took a seat on the edge of the coffee table which promptly collapsed, sending me to the floor with a loud thud. So keyed up already from my fear for Possum and horror from the callousness of the cat’s death, this didn’t send any extra adrenaline my way. Lynn ushered me onto the sofa, scooting Sian and the cat corpse closer to herself. I declined and pulled up a side stool. 

Lynn and Kathleen immediately launched into a diatribe about their other family members, Kathleen’s children and Lynn’s grandchildren. It immediately made me think abuse!and probably from Lynn and Kathleen. 

The only punishment the dogs received was me glaring at them and saying “bad dog” in a mean voice. Lynn began to pet the dogs, their tails still wagging from the excitement of the kill. The culprit seated herself in an armchair opposite us and began snoring, snout still covered in the cat’s blood. 

Sian and I sat there in this surreal arrangement with the cat’s corpse still sitting between us while Lynn began to talk about her South African tea made from sticks. Kathleen shouted that she couldn’t find the tea and Lynn got up to help her search. 

“What the fuck is happening?” I whispered to Sian.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I think I left the stove on.” 

We got up to leave, shouting our excuse towards the kitchen. Lynn came out and gave me a bag of the tea and instructions on how to prepare it. 

“Now that you know we’re over here, you can come have a tea with us anytime,” she said. 

No fucking thanks. 

I used to be indifferent to animal life like Lynn and Kathleen are and I am glad that I am not anymore, that I have the capacity for tenderness and love and even fear. I am glad that Bennie and Possum are unharmed but sad at Shumba's tragic end. I hope Lynn and Kathleen will take some responsibility for their dogs, begin to take them on walks and train them but I know it's not going to happen. Their attitude is easy come, easy go and I think it's heartbreaking to be that callous. When you shut yourself off from the pain, you shut yourself off from the joy.