Sunday, May 11, 2008
Methos went outside Thursday morning, never to return.
Methos Trouble Underfoot came into our lives 2 1/2 years ago, when he was a 6 week old bundle of white fur. Within 3 hours of his arrival, he had the house completely under his control. He was fearless then, and he'd stayed that way. When yelled at, he didn't run...he'd just hunker down as small as possible and look up at you with those blue eyes and meow, as if to say "See me? I'm small and cute and cuddly and I purr really loud. You know you love me. Don't me mad. I'm cute!" I've always had trouble keeping him inside - he came from outside, and that's where he wanted to be. After a year of fighting him I started letting him go when he'd sneak out and in the past six months I've been letting him out when he asked. This...this was my downfall.
For you see, he went outside Thursday morning when the in-laws left. Before I went to bed that night, I went outside and called for him because I don't like him to be out all night. I also figured he was hungry, as he ALWAYS comes home to eat. There was no answer, but I didn't think much of it since he does sometimes stay out all night...but he comes in when FIL leaves in the morning. When I got up, he wasn't in. I called for him again, but no answer. A few hours later I tried again...and that's when I began to panic. Every hour I'd go out and call for him. When Aaron got home, we went to look for him. I just knew he'd be in the patch of tall weeds across the street and that he wouldn't be alive. I was right. He got clipped by a car, or at least that's the best we can figure.
Methos has a special place in my life. I guess you could say he's my infertility pet. When he showed up on my doorstep, I felt as if God was saying "I'm sorry you can't have children. I know you want a little boy...so here, have Methos." Methos was a very different kitty from Winnie, who I believe God gave me because I wanted a little girl. They are definitely as different as boys and girls. In human years I think Methos was reaching his whiny, angsty teen years recently. These two cats are more human that some people I know - so full of personality and love and talk. When Aaron told me that Methos was gone I felt a stab and twist deep in my body - as if my uterus had been stabbed. Not only have I lost a pet, I've lost my child. (This is not meant to be a direct comparison to the loss of a child - nothing equates that, nothing.)
I am back to living in the land of "what ifs" and wishing that I could have the innocence of my youth once again, when I could allow people to comfort me with platitudes and believing the lies we tell each other. "I'm sure it was quick and he didn't suffer" or "He's in a better place now" or "there's nothing you could have done." I'm busy tormenting myself with "did he get hit because he was running to me when I called him? Why didn't I hear his yowls of pain? Why didn't I know he was hurt? Why didn't I go looking for him Thursday night? If I had found him just after he was hit, could I have saved him? Who did this to him and why didn't they stop? Why did God take my boykitty away from me? Why did I let him go outside, especially when I knew the dangers?" I know that there are no answers and I expect none. I imagine I'll stop looking and listening for him eventually. But for now, the house is too quiet without Methos the Monster and his purring and talking.