Last night out for a walk, I passed the corner where about a year ago I moved the dead cat from the middle of the busy road. And I wondered if the owner believed me.
The story unfolded this way. Driving down the road I came across a dead cat. Not totally squished but looking as if she had been just hit. I pulled over and checked on her. She was dead. And thinking it would be terrible for her owner to have her mutilated more, carefully picked her up and carried her to the sidewalk. It was then I noticed her ID tag with phone number. I called. Told the voice that answered where we were and that unfortunately their lovely cat had been hit. Told them it wasn't me, but that I had stopped to check on her and moved her body to the sidewalk. I told them I was sorry for their loss.
As I was getting back in my car a young man was running up the street in street clothes carrying a towel, obviously not a jogger. He looked frantic. I waited. He was the cat owner's son. I guess in some people's eyes, he was the cat's brother. I directed him to the body, which I had laid under a tree. Again, apologizing for his loss. We wrapped up her body, he thanked me for calling, and we parted. I don't really remember what he looks like or which house he came out of.
But last night as I walked, I wonder if he believed me. That I wasn't the person involved in that unfortunate accident.
Part 2 tomorrow.