A Case of Mistaken Identity: A Story of the Family Pet

It was early one morning about four years ago, and I was still groggy from a good nights sleep. My daughter informed me that it was time to walk her to her school a couple of blocks away. We proceeded to cross the street, and suddenly, my heart sprang in my throat.

What I saw in the middle of the road, in the opposite direction brought tears to my eyes. It was our poor, 1-year-old cat, Cleopatra. It looked as if a car had run over her and smashed her head flat. My daughter looked confused as we walked to school. I did not tell her, but it upset me that she did not seem too concerned about the cat being gone to kitty heaven. I assumed she was trying to be a big girl about it now that she was in fifth grade. I dropped her off at school and made the return trip home.

Once I arrived home, I went to my linen closet and got a towel to wrap my poor deceased cat in. It then hit me that my cat whom I'd fallen in love with was gone. I was crying so hard, I couldn't see the road ahead of me. Slowly with tears streaming down my face, I made my way to my cat. I leaned down, making sure I didn't look at her head as I would have lost it then and there. I remember being so mad, thinking someone must have been driving very fast to flatten her head so badly. I gently wrapped her in the towel and walked toward the house. But before walking off the road, I noticed a car that had been stopped so I could pick up my cat. The lady looked at me strangely, with a confused look on her face. She was almost smirking, but I couldn't tell for sure. I smiled weakly at her and walked towards the house. My only thought was, where will I bury my poor cat? Should I do it before my daughter gets home? Maybe we can plant a tree on top of her to remember her short life. Then I received the shock of my life.

Suddenly, I felt something rubbing up against my leg. I looked down and was still crying so hard, I could barely see. It looked like a cat that resembled my Cleopatra. Another blink to get rid of the tears, and I saw that it was my Cleopatra. What went on in my mind then is still rather hilarious to retell. I was thinking - there is my cat, but I thought I just picked my cat up, how can that be my cat on the ground? It then hit me that I wasn't holding my cat! What was it then that I was holding in my arms? I gingerly removed the towel that was over the head to see what I had picked up, and it sure enough it had a pointy head. I then proceeded to throw the poor creature on the ground, screeching. It was an opossum! That explains the pointy head. At that instant, I headed for the house running, washing my hands to get rid of whatever disease I might have picked up. The whole time my cat is at my feet, looking at me as if I had two heads.

I then called the school and asked to speak to my daughter. She came to the phone, and I told her what was dead in the road. She told me she had looked confused, because she was almost positive the dead animal in the middle of the road was not our cat but she wasn't sure when I started crying. I can only imagine what she told her classmates about her " dumb" Mom when she got back to class.

To this day, friends and family alike love to tell the story of the animal with the mistaken identity. I try to blame it on the fact that I was sleepy or did not have my glasses on. Give me a break! They are both gray.

Sometimes I also wonder about the poor lady who looked so confused in her car as I cradled and mourned over the dead opossum. She was trying to figure out why the opossum was being mourned. Perhaps it was my pet?

This was one of those life events that you never live down. Everyone is still joking that the next pet I need is an opossum. No thanks; I once cradled a dead one in my arms, and that in itself is enough!