Oh, hello! Welcome. Come and have some beef stew.

A big Mag and Moo welcome to Fiona! HI! *waving*

So, last night, I was in that really deep sleep where waking up feels like you are swimming to the surface through melted Nutella. (Just go with it. I’m hungry.) (But… HOW GOOD WOULD THAT BE? Melted Nutella?? I’m going to have to try that now.)

Anyway. You know the kind of sleep I mean.  Well, last night, as I swam to the surface, I thought I heard a very angry baby crying. I was thinking, oh, someone is so not happy. They brought the child outside. But something didn’t sound quite right. The baby’s cry didn’t have that sort of inhale pause.

So I realized it was a cat. Normally, the Wonder Twins each take up a post at the foot of my bed, like matching gargoyles. They keep me safe at night. I start to think that it is one of the Wonder Twins. OMG. What if I left the inside door to the garage open and one of them is hurt!?! I felt around with my feet and felt the 2 solid lumps. Whew.

The crying was outside. And it wasn’t just crying. It was real-live horrific screaming and crying. The poor cat had to have been terribly hurt. Just crying and screaming and wailing. So loud. So forlorn. My heart was breaking. I thought I should get up and go see if I could find the poor little nugget. But, really. What would I do then?

The crying stopped. Whew. But no. Whatever had done the damage came back. There was one final loud cry. Then everything was quiet.

I have no idea what became of the little critter. Or what set the whole thing off.

But I do know that hearing that noise that reached into my head and heart is something I hope to never hear again. It was so tragic.

I get that wild things act like wild things and survival of the fittest and all that. But, JMJ. I gave each of the Wonder Twins an extra hard hug and extra smooch before going back to sleep. And then again before I left for work this morning. I know they sit in the window during the day and watch the world go by. And they might even want to go outside. But last night confirmed to me that having them inside, and spoiling them rotten, is the right decision. I can’t imagine one of them getting killed by something bigger and meaner and never really knowing what happened. Or having them come home, all skun up (skun? It’s a word.) (Yeah huh!) from fighting back. It would break my heart every day. I adopted them to love them.

And I hope to keep doing that for a long, long time.

RIP little wild nugget. I’m sorry it was such a painful death. 😦

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