The hits just keep on coming don't they? My mothers cat died today. He was really both our cat, since I picked him out and she and I fell in love with him the day we brought him home. He was a Hemingway cat, like my mothers Frankie, and we named him Edgar after Edgar Allen Poe. I'd originally named him Poe, but that didn't really seem to fit, so he became Edgar. He was a white cat, with the prettiest green/blue eyes. You could never tell he was white because he would chase his friend Harvey (acquired shortly after Edgar, someone tossed him out under the bridge up the road) all through the Chimiques on our patio, and so he stayed a rather dingy grey. My mother, god, she backed over him in the driveway. He was hiding behind the tire I can only imagine, stalking Harvey. He must have not heard the car, or just didn't pay attention. He did not have a painless death. I can only imagine how hard it must have been for my mother to realize what had happened and that she had to deal with it herself. She tried to drive him to the hospital to save him, but he died before she even got out of the driveway. He's now buried next to Jett. I can't even cry over this. I love that cat. He acted like a dog most of the time and would follow you around wanting to be held. He spent most of his young kittenhood perched on my shoulder like a parrot. I was going to take him to my new house to live with me, but I didn't think it would be fair to Harvey since they were joined at the hip practically. I don't even know how to feel anymore. I was at work when it happened. I didn't have my phone, so I didn't find out until after I got off work. I DO remember getting a searing headache at about 11 o'clock which is when my mother tried to call me to ask me where to take him. I just, this is just, god. This is turning out to be one of the worst years of my life so far.