"Is that bitch of yours dead yet?"

These were the first words out of my mouth when I ran into my cousin Simon, at a family function, circa 1990. Simon blinked at me for several seconds, it took a while for him to process the question. I guess he'd prepared a "Hi Callisto, I'm going great!" and he had to change gears in order to answer me.
"Er, yes she is" Simon replied slowly, his face going red. I could tell he wanted to add something like "You just can't let go of things can you," but his knowledge of my fondness for, a debate, shall we say, stopped him.

"Well, that is the best thing I've heard for a long time," I said smiling sweetly at Simon before searching the sea of relatives for an exit.

Four years earlier, my mother found Oscar, a young silver tabby, with piercing eyes, under her car on my 16th birthday. And in a strange move, she decided to take him home for me (probable motivation for this display of kindness: forgetting to get her only daughter a 16th birthday present). Oscar was a sweet-natured and very affectionate cat, he kept feline aloofness to a minimum. His fur was super-soft and sleek, I can still remember how it felt, if I close my eyes and imagine stroking his lithe little body.

And my little darling Moggy, so special, because of the way she had found me. I was riding my horse, along a fire trail in state forest, when I heard faint meows, from behind me. I turned the horse and saw this tiny, skinny, near-dead, kitten scrambling after us. She had been dumped, probably with other kittens, of which I found no trace, and she had rescued herself by finding me (well my horse at least). I picked her wretched little body up and put her under my t-shirt to get her home. I arrived there with scratched-up arms and belly, and one scared little tortoiseshell angel, with one heck of a survival instinct.

Moggy soon got plump and was growing into a beautiful cat, she had really lovely colouring; blue, cream and a hint of ginger. She was playful, and very attached to me. I used to sneak her and Oscar into my room at night (which was against the house rules). Where they would sleep in my cupboard, safely hidden away from prying ("Why do you come in without knocking?") parents' eyes.

On a beautiful, sunny morning, I woke and put the cats out of my bedroom window (sneaky). They played around in the sun on the verandah and I watched them for a while from my bed. My cousin Simon, a builder, was at our place working on a small job for my dad. Like so many tradesman, he took his dog with him to work, unfortunately.

I was on my way out of the house to catch the bus to school and I noticed his dog with something furry in her mouth. She was shaking her head from side to side, as dogs do when they have something to kill. It took a couple of seconds to realise that the something in her mouth was Moggy, but when I did I screamed out for my cousin and ran after the dog. The dog dropped Moggy when I yelled at her. There was a fair bit of blood, I gently picked up Moggy's little body and knew instantly that she was dead.

I was so angry with that dog, but rage is wasted on man's best friend, so I threw that anger at my cousin. As I cradled Moggy's body and ranted at Simon, (I think I called him an "inconsiderate fucking prick") I looked past him, and saw Oscar lying in the long, green grass at the base of the water tank. I ran to him but it was already too late for my little prince of a cat, his unforgetable eyes were open but they saw no more.

Two innocent little lives, snuffed out by another innocent, because in reality the dog just did what came naturally to her. Still, it was good to know that the bitch was dead.