Rest in Peace, Dearest Shammer Cat 8/19/04-7/25/09

It took me a while to write this, as it does not come with a happy story. Nope, it comes with a tragedy, one that sickens me to my bones and makes me question so many things.

My cat, Shammer, was shot to death Saturday night by someone who lives near me. And when I say near me, I mean within the 1 mile of road that I live on. I didn't find out until 1 a.m. Sunday morning, as my husband witnessed the worst of it. Shammer was shot, made it home to our yard, and died there. My husband discovered him at approximately 7:30 p.m., which means IT WAS STILL DAYLIGHT OUT WHEN SOMEONE SHOT HIM, which also means that HIS COLLAR WAS CLEARLY VISIBLE IN THE DAYLIGHT, which then in turns means that someone performed this heinous act knowing full well that this particular cat WAS OWNED AND LOVE BY SOMEONE. That final part hurts the most. And enrages me at the same time.

Shammer was a young cat; he was only on this earth for about five years. He was a favorite because I never had a black cat, and I always wanted one. He was a fierce hunter, but became somewhat lazy after Ernest died (which also makes me question if this recent incident is tied to the "unknown cause of injuries" to Ernest last year, almost a year to the date). His favorite place to hang out was on top of the couch; however, if you covered yourself with a blanket he liked to lay on top of it with you, purr, meow in your face, and nudge you for kisses. Many mornings he liked to show off his hunting skill by leaving remnants of the mice he caught on our porch--kinda gross, but he was proud. He liked to chase Gus's and Betza's tails as they wagged, and his own tail was a bit crooked, as he accidentally got his caught in a door when he was a young and playful kitten. He taught Dexter how to be tough and how to growl, and he taught us what it's like to raise a kitten. We'd never had one before him.

Like his brother Ernest, Shammer made it home to tell us something was wrong, but this time, we were too late. At least we know what happened, and that he didn't reach his end alone in the woods. My husband was there with him, and my husband had to bury him. Now, he'll rest with our other pets who have passed on...and we will remember everything he gave us. Rest in peace, Dear Shammer. May you find an endless field of catnip, warm garden dirt to lay upon and scratch your back, and may you and Ernest cuddle up and take daytime naps on a bed with an over-fluffy comforter. You are missed, and one day, we will find out who did this.

Love,
Chelsea