Reflections on a furball...

I sometimes wonder if I'm a good "parent" to my cat. I mean, I do the basics - keep her food and water bowl full, her litter box poop-free, her vaccinations up to date, and a variety of catnip-filled toys for her to play with briefly, and then lose.

But I leave her home alone for long periods of time, and probably don't play with her as much as I should. Much of the time, I feel like all I'm doing is trying to stop her from doing stuff that she wants to do, like eating my food or running out the door or kneading my chest at five in the morning. Is she happy at Casa De Mad, or would she have been better off if she'd never fallen asleep on my lap on a warm August night?

This morning I was driving to work, running late as usual, when I saw one of those things that breaks the heart of anyone who has ever had a warm cat sleeping on their lap - an orange tabby lying dead in the middle of Woodbourne Avenue, red blood and orange fur on the yellow line, the unfortunate feline victim of a passing car. The streets are a tough, and often lethal, place for a kitty.

I suppose there are far worse fates for a cat than a life of shredding madanthony's couch.