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I found her little body at the top of the driveway, pushed into the brush like common roadkill. Oreo, Tibby; we all had different names for her, inspired by the black and white coat she flaunted. Over three years of staff and patient turnover, Oreo was a constant member of our ranks. She was our little work mascot, scouring the campus for mice during the day and retreating to the old barn at night. There are other cats on the property, but none so engaging as Oreo. Even contrasted against green grass she was able to camouflage herself, forcing us to question how long, how faithful we were in our quest to catch a glimpse of her elegance. Some coworkers even brought cans of cat food, though she looked pulp and well-fed all on her own. We all felt like she was ours — even free, even without her knowledge, we had claimed her life as our mission to uphold. And we had failed her.
The loss I felt (and still feel) was more monumental than I’d ever anticipate. We did not know each other, not really. She would watch me watching her, and I personified her hidden and wild life. The stitch holding me together —unbeknownst to me — was a graceful field dweller. I realized, once she was gone, that the pain I felt was for the loss of freedom, innocence, and peace. She was our coworker, in a sense, but she was also feral, answering to no one; the lighthouse of nature’s beauty. The thread binding my monotonous days with the peace and presence of nature was now forever cut. How do you grieve for a passing visitor?
Noooooooo Oreo
good boy 💕