The Kitty Column

This column was published in last week's paper. I thought those of you who don't read the newspaper might enjoy it.

We lost a kitten this week, the casualty caused by a car.

Growing up on a farm, death is not a foreign, nor rare, concept. Some animals have longer life spans than others, but pets hopefully last longer.

This kitten was with us for just over a month. This little guy was a replacement for an older cat who went AWOL on a trip to town for his shots.

My son was near tears about the cat, so on the way home we collected up a new kitten from a friend.

The kitten's name was Lion. He joined Tiger, an older cat, and replaced Cougar, the one who left us to be a town cat.

Lion, or Little Lion, as I started calling him, was as entertaining as his big namesake at the circus.

While I ate breakfast, he would put on a performance on the deck, outside the patio door.

He could stand on his hind legs, on top of a stool, weaving and waving at me.

He would mew, as loud as he could, trying to entice me outdoors with some treats.

Lion would play fight with Tiger. Or maybe Tiger was teaching Lion a lesson for messing with him while he took a nap.

Lion even tamed Jasper, the dog, who doesn't always appreciate cats like he should. I caught them snoozing in the sun together, their fur the same color.

Lion would creep through the flower beds, hunting, maybe for a grasshopper, or even a leaf blowing in the wind, pouncing on it wildly.

When we discovered Little Lion's body on the road, all these memories flashed through my mind as the kids and I choked back tears, talking about how we were going to miss Lion.

I thought about how this little kitten brought us simple entertainment, offering his little furry body for us to pet and love and an ear to talk to if we needed it.

He brought us smiles, such uncomplicated bits of joy, delivered in a small package.

My daughter donned a black shirt, signalling her mourning for this dear little pet. She refused however, to hold a funeral, saying she was tired of that being her job since she is the oldest.

My next oldest went out and “took care of the body.”

I didn't ask questions, but I know he is sensitive enough to do it in a respectful way.

We can't control life, but the kids and I accept his death. It happens on the farm, and we move on.

We have a new kitten reserved, the kids will bring it home from their cousins' house when it is old enough to leave it's mama.

And we will love again.