In the interest of good taste, I will not report on the dead cat–black, naturally–that I first spied on the tracks in Hawthorne last night, and, to my chagrin, saw again today.
Because nobody wants to read about a dead cat, especially over breakfast.
If I were to report about that cat, though, I’d be somewhat pleased to mention that he/she appeared to die a peaceful death. Lying on its side in the middle of the tracks, its body whole, it’s a far cry from what one would expect when one hears about a dead cat on the tracks. It could be sleeping. Perhaps the third rail got it, and death was instant.
I’d also be rather relieved to report that it didn’t seem to be wearing a collar. I’ve seen a handful of strays around town, often in my yard, and I supposed this one was in that posse. I guess it’s a relief to think that his demise won’t break the hearts of the small children who rode on his back when they were babies, who chased him around the house,. who tried in vain to teach him to chase frisbees. Then again, the thought of a lonely stray cat dying unloved is sort of heartbreaking too.
But I won’t mention that.
Finally, I don’t think I’ll be snapping a photo of the dead cat, though I did actually bring my camera to work today for that sole purpose. Because it would leave the wrong impression for my co-riders in Hummerville; I mean, what sort of nut photographs a dead cat on the train tracks? I don’t think I’ll be doing that, unless, perhaps, I get a nice clean shot when no one’s looking this evening.
RIP, my furry friend. Hopefully the maintenance guys get you out of there while you still have your peaceful dignity.