Poor Sweet Kitty: The Passing of My Cat, Cuteface, and Her Litter

I'm not really sure what kind of reaction one should have about a situation like this. Do you cry or scream? Rage? Go into isolation within ones self? Poor, pretty girl. I could still feel the kittens moving as a sat there holding her. I was in my room when my daughter ran in screaming and crying, telling me her brother killed Cuteface (as named by her). My son is three, and though unintentional, I could imagine him strangling one of the cats, although, I would imagine, the cat would do a lot of damage to him, and ultimately get away if that happened. I grabbed my shoes and my glasses and ran out to the porch.

I was not prepared for what I saw, nor can I explain how it might have happened. I know my son couldn't have done the maneuvering it would have took, she could have fell from the top, but it's still hard for me to picture her landing in that way. Out on my porch swing was Cuteface, her head caught between the rows of wood that made up the design of the back of the swing. I thought it was gonna be easy to lift her out of it, but it wasn't. As the wood got closer together near the bottom of the swing, I realized that her leg was caught also between the bottom grates. I wondered if she could have fallen, how did she manage to get her head stuck between, and also her leg stuck in the bottom. Then I realized that the leg must have gotten stuck as she tried to climb (struggle) her way out. It was hard to get her leg lose, but after I did, it was relatively easy to lift her out. I sat down on the swing holding her, trying to reassure my daughter that it was unlikely that her brother had "done this".

My son, still to young to understand any of this. She couldn't have been gone very long, as I could still feel the movement of one or more kittens in her belly as I had her lying on my chest stroking her. What can one do? It was only a matter of minutes, I'm sure, before the kittens would be gone too. After holding her for a while and calling my mom at work, to confirm that there was nothing that could be done, (sometimes it takes a while to sink in when you feel helpless), I laid her on the kids picnic table and went in to call Sarah's dad. I asked him to stop by after work and bury the cat for his daughter. Would have done it myself, but my physical condition right now makes me incapable of standing and using a shovel for any amount of time.

We locked the screen door so my son, whom I still don't think understands death, couldn't get outside. I watched as some of the others came over to say their goodbyes, to grieve, or be in denial. Fluff...licking her tail, gently bathing her. My daughter told me one of the "girls" came up and is laying on her, on the table. What if? "Mom, what if we didn't have that swing, and we had a regular swing? She would still be alive." "Cuteface was my favorite!" "If she's dead, then the kittens won't come out of her? They just die with her?" Now they will rest, and play in the fields near the rainbow bridge.