Fuzzy died a tragic death in a garage door accident while my kids were away at college.
I found Fuzzy and, technically, was at fault since I didn't realize she was asleep on the top of the garage door opener rod before I hit the button. Since I quickly got her to the pet hospital and ordered the vet to put her to sleep "immediately," they have always suspected me of being overzealous. However, the vet took one look at Fuzzy wrapped up in a baby blanket in the cardboard box and immediately agreed with my diagnosis. This all took place 24 years ago.
Yesterday my son texted to me and the others "Cess Crossman = Cat Killer."
This morning I told all this to my water aerobics group expecting some sympathy but I received none. Just numerous stories, all sympathetic to cats. My friend, Barb, is nervous because she's getting older and "when I die, who will take care of the cat?" I did not respond. And I doubt that, since she'd just heard my story, she was asking me.
Patti told about her friend whose cat disappeared so, after a few months, they got another cat. Then the first cat returned and life was one big cat fight. So they decided to take the original cat back to the pet store only to discover that he was an imposter - not their original cat. They still felt guilty.
I texted my kids back yesterday saying this "My Preferred Title: Dr. Kevorkian for Cats - Somebody Has to Do It."
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