Is it me or what? Exactly one year after this post: I engaged in my first mercy kill.
The cat dragged him into the back yard. He stuck his claws into the lizard’s head and batted him around the patio. My warm fuzzy feelings for the cat vanished in an instant as I threw him inside and returned to the lizard.
He was upside down until I turned him over and saw that he was breathing…and bleeding. I went back inside to try and forget about him. I told myself he would live, he would go find a nice place to rest and heal.
His belly was the most beautiful blue…
An hour or so i reluctantly returned and to my dismay he hadn’t moved a centimeter and his breathing was labored. If he were human he would be engaging in what is known as the death rattle. (Oh the death rattle…why do you haunt me so?)
My sister thousands of miles away confirmed it, I had to put him out of his misery. (Despite my protests, who am I to decide? What if he is enjoying his final moments?)
But the blood was plentiful and my heart was exploding. The time had come and I went for the machete. If I could just chop his head off with a quick one-two…
But it took four. Four chops to sever the head. And believe me it wasn’t pretty. His head and body twitched violently long after the deed was done.
I yelled noooooooo and tears sprang to my eyes as I delivered each blow. When it finished I looked up to the sky and wailed. (An actress at heart truly, but one cannot help the level of dramatics we are born with.)