I used to think I lived in a civilized town. In a nice neighborhood. I was wrong.

On a terrible, cold night in January of 2002 the senseless, evil act of one unknown person turned a peaceful evening into months of horror, suspicion and hatred.

About 8:00 that evening, our cat, Conroe, his face a bloddy mass of pain and terror, appeared at our door covered in blood. Someone in our neighborhood, and in our own yard, shot him point blank in the face with a shotgun loaded with rat shot. The shot blew a hole in his face destroying most of his nose and part of one eye.

It took several surgeries to try and repair the damage, leaving him blind in one eye. He had great difficulty breathing, even with a hole a half inch wide still in his head. He was never the same.

For the next 12 months he went from one illness to another until he finally passed away 11 months later. I should have put him down when he got shot, but I just couldn't do it. I was wrong.

Since that night, I look at everyone in my neighborhood in a different way. Although I posted signs and asked around, nobody seemed to know anything. Fortunately for whoever did it, whoever came into my yard and murdered my pet, they remain unknown.

I never found out who did it. If I had, the results would have been horrible, for both of us. I guess it is best. To this day I cannot fathom why someone would do such a thing.

I promised myself I would never let this issue become just another sad memory. I'm sure there are far too many people who have suffered from senseless cruelty to animals, from the cruel death of a loved pet.

In memory of Conroe I am posting this poem I wrote shortly after his death. I hope it may give some relief to anyone else who has suffered from such an evil and sadistic act.

And as for the subhuman piece of scum who did this, I neither forget, nor forgive.

Conroe

we found him in a box.
a yard sale bargain
for free, the last lonely kitten
so tiny fuzzy and white.
he hid all the way home.
purring and clasping,
big wet blue eyes peeking out
at the strange surroundings whizzing by.

he slept in my pocket.

evenings he would wobble and run to see us.
tiny meows, licks and purrs,
scurrying to hide behind the fridge
or scramble up the side of the couch

his collar always jangled down the sidewalk
as he took walks with us,
darting in and out of the shadows
teasing us, then rubbing against our legs
as if to say…
enjoy our time together.
drink it all in now.

the veneer of humanity is thin indeed,
and easily breached,
opening pathways
to narrow valleys of darkness,
and bitter cold rivers
for anger to flow and rage,
for hatred to burst and bleed.

helpless white face crying in the darkness,
smashed and shattered with blood and terror,
pain and confusion, tears and sorrow,
despair and resignation.
suffering.

the relentless clock of death
wound tightly and set in motion.

it was just a matter of time
we knew.
the playful joy
diminished,
dimmed
and flickered.
and died.

it takes a year, I guess,
to kill a cat with a shotgun.
seems like it should be quicker.

perhaps only the death of a soul is quicker.

i see him sometimes late at night
in the corner of a glance
or the reflection in a window,
sleeping peacefully on a pillow
at my favorite spot on the couch.

i feel his purrs echo in my heart.

peaceful now.