by Yvonne Donlon

Created on: December 10, 2009

It was 1972. A 45 rpm  record of Monster Mash was playing in my classroom as we made decorations for Halloween.  Fun day.  And then, my father arrived at the school to pick me up early. And unexpectedly. Something must be wrong.

Her name was Suzy. She was a small Siamese/Burmese mix, dark brown with green eyes. My cat. Well, our cat, but as most of our animals usually did, she quickly became my cat. She slept with me. I fed her. I played with her. She was my best friend.

She had been chased around the apartment complex  by a dog – as it turned out, a police dog - earlier in the day. As fast as she was he still got her, or at least her back leg. As we were driving home, however, Dad didn’t say any of this. He was not the best at delivering bad news like that. His job, that day, was just to deliver me to my mother so she could do the explaining.

When we got to the apartment, Suzy didn’t come when I called her. Poor Dad hadn’t thought of this little routine of mine during his delivery mission.  When I started out to search for her, of course he had to stop me. Mom had not yet arrived from the vet’s office to be the bearer of bad news.

“Let’s go in the kitchen and wait for your mother,” he said.

“Why?”

Oh, the “why”. A parent’s least favorite word sometimes. And Dad, who was a salesman by trade, was not so good at doing the “not saying the whole truth without necessarily lying” thing he was so good at on his job with his children.

“Suzy’s at the doctor’s office,” he said.

“Why?”

“Your mom had to take her there,” he replied. ‘She should be home soon.”

“What was wrong with her she had to go to the doctor’s,” I asked.

“No,” Dad said. “Your mom will be home soon. Not Suzy.”

“Why?”

“Well,” he started. ‘Something’s happened to Suzy.”

There is a photograph of me and my brother and as toddlers. It was taken by a professional children’s portrait photographer. Throughout the session, he could not get a shot of me where I wasn’t crying. I guess I didn’t like the guy particularly. Mom kept one for the memory of that fact, I guess. Anyone who looks at that photo would assume I must be making one incredible bawling noise as well. Red-faced, with tears streaming down my face, and mouth twisted in fear, it

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