Honor is Dead

I don't mean honor the abstract concept, though a good argument could be made for that as well, but rather Honor, one of my cats. Honor was five years old, a big friendly tomcat that was at least partially responsible for bringing all sorts of wildlife into my home that I didn't really want there. His hunting prowess however was respectable and he presented me with a steady stream of frogs (partially eaten, apparently they taste better than mice), mice, snakes (often alive), rats and birds throughout the spring and summer months. He came from a litter of kittens one of my wife's co-workers rescued from a garbage can moments before it destined from the dump. We took a brother and sister pair from the litter and named them Honor and Glory.

Besides that grisly assortment of hunting trophies he brought home, he was a great cat. He didn't scratch up the furniture or knock things off tables like his sister Glory. He was always ready to sit in a lap and be scratched, and was just overall a great pet.

This morning I found him laying in the garden under my willow tree, a place where he would often nap. But there were flies all over him and it was immediately obvious something was wrong. I checked him over, but it didn't appear that he had been hit by a car or bitten by another animal. There was no blood or obvious injuries. He had been active and healthy the night before, so I have no idea what happened to him.

It really doesn't matter, gone is gone. He had a good life, I just wish it had been longer. I'll miss ya big guy.

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