Carcass

 Every morning when I stumble out of my house, I splash coffee on my bare feet as I tiptoe to the car, 10 year old in tow. I think this is the world reminding me to watch where I step. 

Meet Cat. The one thing my precious daughter wanted when we moved to Newnan. Of course I obliged. It’s not like it was a pig. It was a sweet ball of fur that would purr on her lap. 

At least in the beginning. Then Cat was let loose to roam. This is when the reign of terror began. At first I wasn’t sure what it was. Beaks, tiny paws, is that an eyeball? No, certainly not. My sweet loving husband would eye Cat like an exorcist, waiting for her head to spin. Chipmunks, moles, birds. Each morning she deposits a new sacrifice in our drive. Rob has started putting chalk lines around them a la Law and Order. He dutifully removes the broken little bodies. I tell him our kids have seen their share of tiny deaths. But he wants to protect them. 

So each morning when I feel that splash of coffee wash over my feet, I look down and say a prayer for little things that have died in the night. And for the man that will do his best to protect us from it.