A stray

A few black cats that were dropped off and undisturbed by our apartment complex stayed under Roger’s car.  But it wasn’t in danger of going anywhere having been tarped for years.  Roger would feed and water them since he could not afford the pet deposit.  

They used to be fed by the autistic man across the street, but his house was bulldozed and replaced with a dog park.

Roger went to take care of his mother.  

Today I saw the cat sprawled out near my car.  He wasn’t old.  His eyes were still open.  His limbs still limber.  He had lost his willingness to groom, a small trace of waste under his tail.  

I try to envision that he was once comfortable encircled by his mom for a few short days.

The nearby base began to play Colors, when the flag is lowered.  I buried him in a folded pillowcase that had long since lost its set.  He now is free of the sickness and torment as his soul departs his thin little body, now buried near the creek he frequented.  The creek now dry.

His death made me immensely sad. 

We did nothing for him.  And no one cared.  Roger couldn't.