Tragedy has struck Providence Farm.
Yesterday Tom the Kitten wanted to go outside. I let him.
When we came back from Katie's doctor's appointment and soccer practice, Tom didn't greet us. He didn't come home last night or this morning.
Laura found his body this morning down in the woods.
Dog or dogs had killed him, quickly, at least, with no marks, just a quick shake.
I'm almost certain it was my own dogs.
Debbie, the kitten hating cat, was out when we let Tom out, so we think that he ran away from her, triggering his own friend dogs to chase him.
If it had been the neighbor's dog, he would have climbed a tree in time.
I'm very angry at the two guilty seeming dogs.
These pictures of Tom are from yesterday. He loved looking up at birds above his head. Recently he'd hunted an army helicopter in the hope of bringing it down. Tom had big dreams.
He'd been enjoying practicing hunting on the weird bee/flies that frequent the cow patties in the yard.
He was Becky's special friend. He slept with her every night. I've never seen her so enamored with a pet.
That it was he who died makes me angrier and sadder than I would have imagined.
Lately the words of C.S. Lewis from The Silver Chair have been occurring to me often: "Which just goes to show how little anyone knows what is going to happen to them next."
Once again, that is true.