As I was walking back from Starbucks yesterday I couldn't help but think how much I will miss Clyde. Earlier in the day Keith and I scraped his lifeless body from the side of the road. The thought of not seeing my butterscotch colored feline friend camped out at the door or by the garbage cans was going to be a disappointment indeed. But in the end I chalked up his demise to a certain peril feral cats in North Las Vegas face constantly...being run over.
It can't be - I thought to myself as I cross the dirt patch that is the front yard of the shit hole I call home. Jesus, he has risen from the dead - was my next thought as I take witness of the one and only 'Clyde the Glide' setting on the very trash can I had thrown his lifeless body into nary four hours earlier.
"It's a miracle Clyde. You're alive!" I yell as I approach and try to pet him - The sudden movement scares him and he runs off. I run into the house and give Keith the miraculous news, he says, - "I had my suspicions when we scraped him up from the street. That cats hair wasn't as thick as Clyde's. But besides that they were an identical match."
No miracle, no second coming, no pet cemetery...it was a case of mistaken identity on my part. See, Clyde has a twin brother named 'Clyde's brother." I rarely see him. Turns out he was the victim and Clyde was no worse for the wear. The news that he was alive and well was a beautiful ending to what has otherwise been a terrible week.
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