Oklahoma Dreaming: Hard-Wired
by Donna Schoenkopf
Because of the Fourth of July and a steady stream of visitors, Rosie the Cat had done her customary disappearing act and headed for the woods where she didn’t have to stress out over scary new things.
This was nothing new for her.
But after two days she was really hungry and had come up to the sliding glass windows and Diego the Dog crashed at her, snarling and barking and wanting to tear her head off.
So she split. Like greased lightning.
The next night I THINK she came back. I didn’t see her but Diego was excited and barking and I THOUGHT it was the usual raccoon or possum and let him out.
And that’s when I think he got her. It was pitch black out there and he was streaking for the woods. I heard nothing. But some minutes later I heard him barking down by the pond.
I now have deduced that he must have shaken her to death, carried his prize (Rosie) down to the pond and tried to make her run again. That was the barking.
Anyway, she is gone. And this is what has happened since.
For a few days I just waited. I kept “seeing” her out of the corner of my eye, outside on the deck, wanting to get in. Her spirit? My memory bank kicking in out of stressful desire to see her again?
I cried a tiny bit. But mostly I was just tied in knots and tense and worried. I kept hoping she’d just show up.
A thunderstorm came and went. It was the darkest day I’ve ever seen, including eclipses. Pitch black clouds blocking the sun, thunder louder than I’ve ever heard in my life, followed by winds, crazy and powerful, which tore off limbs, threw outdoor furniture around, scared Diego the Dog and Che the Cat into my lap. Torrential rain followed for ten minutes, then hail, then a lightening and brightening and it was over.
And no Rosie.
Another day or two. Nothing.
Then Che the Cat made a move on Diego’s dog food. Diego sprang into a full-on growling and snapping attack.
I looked at Diego and realized he had killed Rosie.
I slapped him hard across the face, screaming at him, “NO CATS!!”
I hated him. I hated his hard-wired brain that made him chase and kill things that ran from him. I hated his damn id personality. I hated how STUPID he was. I thought of giving him away. I didn’t want him anymore.
I hit him again, hard, on his back and head.
And then I cried. I sobbed and howled with grief, saying, “I LOVED HER! She was my little girl cat. Rosie! I want my Rosie!”
He looked at me, scared and somehow worried for me. I told him that I KNEW he killed Rosie. I said it over and over.
“You killed Rosie. YOU killed Rosie! I TOLD YOU NO CATS!”
He looked toward the woods where he had run to that night.
“Where is Rosie? Where is Rosie?! Go GET her!”
He looked at the woods again, but didn’t move.
Then he looked down at the pond and quickly back at me.
I couldn’t bear it.
I turned away from him, filled with remorse for hitting him, filled with grief for my cat.
For several days I ignored him. Only feeding him, nothing more. No hugs and caresses. No sweet talk.
I went down to the woods. Nothing.
I went down to the pond. Nothing.
If she had been left dead and broken on the ground, some animal or bird had long taken her away.
She was definitely gone.
So for days Diego and I cohabitated. I would ask him where Rosie was and he’d look out the windows. Che the Cat would, too. Then Che would pad up to the sliding glass doors and ask to be let out and stand on the deck staring off down the hill. He missed her.
Every time I’d feed Che I would look at her empty bowl. Finally I picked it up and washed it. I held it against my chest for a moment and put it in the cupboard where the other bowls were. It made me cry again.
And then, slowly, the frozen hatred for Diego began to lift. Just a little at first. It started when I saw him scared and uncomfortable, staying put on his sleeping mat, not moving for fear of me. I realized I was torturing him. And even though I hated him, I do not torture. Anything. Even him.
My heart melted just a bit. I gave him a perfunctory pat on the head. That was all.
The next day I said good morning to him, as I usually do, but not in the usual way. It was a cool good morning. He understood.
He stayed out of my way, looking at me with worried, sad eyes. I felt my heart begin to soften.
Then yesterday morning I greeted him with a genuine “Good morning,” and petted him and held his big head against my chest and stroked him and kissed him. And cried.
All the fury was gone. What remained was grief for the loss of my girl cat. And guilt. Guilt over hating a living thing that just did what he was made to do.
This morning Diego walked over to the television receiver where Rosie used to sit for warmth. It was her favorite place. He sniffed it and then licked it where she used to sit. Licked it long and slow.
It’s a hot afternoon now and he’s at Sally the Dog’s house, just as though nothing’s happened. He knows I love him.
But he‘s also transformed from a trusting well-loved dog to a dog that‘s been hit and yelled at.
Rosie won’t ever be alive again and Diego will never be totally trusting of me.
Diego and me—two hard-wired stupid living organisms.
Excuse me. Diego’s at the door. Looking at me. Wanting in.
Wagging his tail.
donna@fourstory.org
Comments
OHHH NOOO!!!! I couldn’t help but to cry as I read this story - my heart always “feels” (something it doesn’t normally do) when I hear sad news about people’s pets. Diego knows what he did was wrong but maybe it didn’t start out that way - remember Lenny petting the rabbits in “Mice and Men” - he was just too rough with her. Dogs have this strength that only other dogs seems to be able to deal with when it comes to rough housing. All I could think of is that I hope her pain ended quickly :(
2009-07-14 by Violeta