Last night, Brendon and I found a dead cat. It was lying stretched out in the middle of the road next to the railway line. Brendon said that we should move it to the pavement. He wanted to stop it getting broken by cars. Maybe its owners would be more likely to find it there.
Brendon took hold of its back paws. I was a coward about it and had to be urged to pick up the front paws. They were soft and as warm as those of a live cat. We picked her up and her head flopped back with a sort of delicious abandon. Her body was completely relaxed.
We put her down on the pavement. Her eyes were wide open, beautiful translucent green globes.
Today she is still lying there. Her fur is wet with rain, and she looks like a piece of toilet paper that had been wadded, chewed and spat out. Her eyes had partly closed and are dull. There is a rose coloured dew of blood on her chin and face.