The First Goodbye

A Short Story

Eric looked pitifully at the dead cat on the road. It had been alive ten minutes ago before it had run out into the road. It had been impossible for Eric to break with cars behind him. Even if he had, he probably wouldn’t have stopped in time. The cat was dead, alright. He had waited for it to twitch or make a sound, in case it was just stunned, but the feline wasn’t breathing. Eric recognised this cat. It belonged to his neighbour two doors down, whose little girl Annie would be looking for her cat just about then. He felt guilt gnaw at his stomach. The cat had only ever been friendly to him. Most days he passed it on the way to his car, sitting on the garden wall where it would pur and bump its head against his hand. He had never wanted to hurt it. Resigned to the mess he was in, he pulled his car over to the side of the road and lifted the cat's lifeless form gently onto the grass. He sat down on the curb with a sigh and pulled out his phone, punching in his wife’s number. She listened.

“Do you want me to go tell them?” she asked after he’d finished filling her in.

“No, we’ll go round together.”

When she arrived she brought with her an old blanket from the back of the airing cupboard and two pairs of washing up gloves. Together, they wrapped the cat up in the white cotton blanket that had been softened by years of wear. His wife cradled the bundle in her arms like a child that had fallen asleep. He pressed the doorbell, sharing a nervous look with his wife. The sing-song chime brought to them an anxious mother who eyed the bundle with concern and behind her, seven year old Annie who wanted to see who was at the door. They were invited in for a cup of tea and to explain what had happened. When their cups were nearly empty, they began to leave when they heard sobbing from the other room. Annie’s mother had broken the bad news. Eric groaned as his wife tugged on his sleeve. 

“Stay here. I just need to grab something.”

When she came back Annie had come into the living room and was rubbing her puffy eyes with small fists. Eric’s wife knelt down on the carpet in front of her and put down one of her own patchwork photo albums. As she began to show Annie the photos of her childhood dog, Charlie who had “also gone to heaven”. Her mother flicked the kettle on for a second cup of tea. By the end of the evening, Annie had slid down from the sofa and was sitting beneath his wife’s knees, flipping through the plastic sheets at her own speed. Sipping from his mug, Eric smiled as he watched them. His wife had said sorry better than he could.