When we moved to our new house at the end of March, we decided that we’d let our cats be indoor-outdoor instead of just indoor once they got oriented to the new place. And ever since that first weekend we let them out, I’ve worried pretty much nonstop any time they’re not in my sight.
Monday night on the way to a friend’s house, I passed a dead cat on the road. It looked just like Isabel. I slammed on my brakes, made a three-point turn, and rushed back to check. My heart was pounding, my eyes were welling, and I felt like I was going to throw up.
The poor cat had been so mangled by whatever hit it that I couldn’t really tell if it was her. I stood in the middle of the road and stared at this dead cat for about 5 minutes, looking for some clue that she was mine, that I had held her and cuddled her and given her little kitten kisses, while praying that I wouldn’t find that familiar essence.
Then I noticed the tail: all black.
Isabel’s tail has a white tip.
But I cried anyway, thinking about that cat’s family and how worried they would be when she never came home. I wondered if there were children, and if the mom would tell her kids the same lie my mom told me when my favorite childhood cat, a tuxedo female named Sylvester who bears a striking resemblance to Isabel, got hit by a car, that she ran away.
My entire childhood, I blamed myself. I thought it was something I had done to make her run away. It wasn’t until a few years ago that my mom confessed the truth. I haven’t forgiven her.
Isabel is too happy as an outdoor kitty for me to even consider confining her indoors again. So I have to let her go, and just hope she’ll be one of the lucky ones, the ones who always make it home.