Day 235: Goodnight Mrs Calabash

I have just witnessed the death of a cat. Under the wheels of a car, it went. It didn't scream. I saw the same happen to a dog on Christmas Day when I was 14 or 15 and its screaming still stays with me. This cat made no sound. It writhed. Its back was wrong. Then it stopped, but it was still alive. 

I was cycling down the hill when I saw it happen. I stopped. I hovered, unsure what to do. A motorcyclist stopped too, and a car (though not the one that had gone over the cat). We all got off or out of our vehicles. I stood in the way of traffic while the motorcyclist lifted the cat carefully out of the road and laid it on the pavement. Still still alive. The car driver brought water. He splashed it on the cat. It was a gentle gesture, though it doesn't sound it in writing. Together, we watched as it died. Its eyes lost that tiny light that signals life. There wasn't anything we could do to stop that happening. We all gave it gentleness and affection, even though that made no difference to the outcome of things. 


There was no collar, so no number to call. These two men were both very concerned. They both have cats, they said, and they wanted to let someone know. We realised, though, that we couldn't. It was nearly midnight. We weren't going to go knocking on every door. And the cat was dead. There was talk of a burial, but it felt futile. By the time we left, we'd decided that leaving it on the bank, surrounded by ivy and leaves, was the best option. It would get eaten by foxes, Motorbike Boy said. Natural order taking its course. It'll feed a whole family of foxes, that. All the young ones. It was quite a positive note to end on, really. I wish that hadn't happened, and it's not a pleasant thing to see, but it was an experience I'm warm from. Three people, all different sizes, racial backgrounds, genders. A cat none of them knows. All of them doing 'the right thing' as far as they could, in a way that in itself has no significance, but as a moment, did. 


This at the end of a rather lovely day - no swim, for lazy lateness and lots of sleep, but a lovely meeting with Rob at lunch time, and a very good conversation, unexpected in its depth and significance, I think. Very much appreciated. And then a proper big go on a very small dog. I asked its owner if I could say hello as he was about to place it in the basket of his bike. Rob had gone indoors to fetch cake. The man handed me his dog (it was small and long) and said 'Here - you can hold him while I sort this out.' He then ignored me till he was ready for the dog (quite a long time) while I stood with it in my arms, its head almost over my shoulder, like a baby. I was tempted to burp it. 

A trundle up The Hub, where I was very warmly greeted by Anna and Alazne. Very warmly indeed. I found out that seven or eight people seem to have booked for my workshop on Monday night, which is great. It's creative writing and improv mixed, with the aim of helping the creative buzz.  I'm excited. And I had some help from a handsome, helpful O2 boy/man/boy, when in fact, I'm on giffgaff, not O2 (I was up front - they helped me because they were kind). 


Then up to Ruth's for dinner with her and lovely Carole from Bardsey and Blaenau Festiniogg. That was a treat. There's a softness in Carole's face that's a pleasure to see, and Ruth is always a delight. Then we went to a theatre. We saw a very moving musical - a world premiere - at The Gatehouse, with Marghie too. It was really very well done indeed and I had a weep. The stories behind it were stunning. It was the story of Jimmy Durante and pivots around the death of his wife. The lead actor in this production walked out an hour before the show opened a couple of weeks ago. He said he was going to the toilet, and never came back. They know he is safe and alive because his boyfriend contacted them, but they have not heard from him directly. They had to pull the first week of the show and rehearse another actor for the lead, in a show in which he had to imitate a real person, sing, dance and carry the whole thing with a shed-load of charisma, timing and kick-ass prowess. The rest of the cast were excellent, and there's no denying that there's intense pressure on the lead. It was great. 


In the program, there's a small box at the bottom of the page explaining that a week before the show was due to open, the writer/producer's wife died in her sleep. What? I was - still am - stunned and humbled. I'd have cried even harder, I think, had i known that. I cried pretty hard as it was. 


I can hear the foxes shouting outside. I hope they're about to make their find. Goodnight.