And no, it did not see me…Baby.
It was actually the garden shed. I was puttering around in there Friday night trying to make a path to the wheelbarrow. Opening the door I smelled something peculiar but didn’t really think about it. As I was tugging at a small metal folding table I noted something on the ground a few inches from my feet.
My thoughts were these: How did Ginger (a black stuffed dog Christopher was given while in the hospital) get here?…*tug at the table*actually that looks more like that stuffed cat Eden just got, I thought that was in her closet…*tug, tug*wait, it’s kind of big…*tug*
And then I saw the white feet and began to shriek and tug at the table compulsively. Finally I dropped it, clawed my way past Paul, who was standing right behind me and staggered out into the yard.
Paul, lacking the heeby jeebies from which I suffered, investigated. It was a dead cat. While he went to grab a shovel I calmed myself down and explained to the kids. A mournful little trio stood at attention while their father carried his burden into the woods. Not five minutes later we heard the loud cawing of a raven…and then another…and another. Soon it was a frenzy of cries just yards away. By some miracle the kids didn’t notice.
Only later that night did it occur to me we should have checked with some of the neighbors. We began to giggle, imagining – if we did find the owners – what we could possibly say.