Leon

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The road claimed our black cat, Leon, a few nights ago.  So I was out in the dreary, drizzly December afternoon digging a pet grave in the clay of our little woodlot.  Water was running off my broad brimmed hat.

Some cats seem to learn how roads work and other cats just run and hope for the best.  Leon was one of the latter, I guess.  He wasn't a smart cat, but he was a good cat.  He was far and away the best mouser we had, and I'm grateful for that.  He had the placid feline patience -- able to sit for hours when he knew a rodent was around.  Fortunately, that patience is no good for stalking birds, and in that he was a harmless incompetent.

Already the mice are moving in and I have to figure out where I stored the traps away.

It might seem heartless to have outdoor cats in our woods of foxes, fishers, and feral cats, coyotes, cars, and owls, but Monica and I have no regrets about Leon's short, rich life.  He lived as much in his two and a half years as many indoor pets do in ten.

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