He Died in Our Back Yard Last Night

A Mortal Lesson for Gun Owners

by John Matsko
JMat@KeepAndBearArms.com

March 1, 2004

KeepAndBearArms.com -- He died in our backyard last night. It was a violent, brutal and unnecessary thing that left my family hurting and wondering why. The two who killed him were from the neighborhood. They cornered the old guy in our backyard and killed him. When my wife heard our dog barking to get outside and woke me up, it was already too late. The old guy had been unable to defend himself and was already dead. Neither one of the two who killed him showed any sign of remorse or fear when I confronted them. They were just out having a little fun. You know how sometimes you start running around late at night, chasing a good time, and somehow things just get out of hand. Someone sometimes ends up getting hurt. This time he died.

In the grand scheme of life, this really wasn’t such a big deal. He was old and kind of sick. He had to take pills to keep from getting worse. He hated that, but tolerated it if you coaxed him a bit. He hurt a lot most of the time. He complained to anyone who would listen, and even if you really didn’t want to hear it he would still yell at you. We had to feed him small meals every hour or so, all day long. Let him in, let him out, get him a drink, brush his matted hair, and rub his sore spots. He’s been gone less than a day and the hole his passing leaves in my heart is ...... Damn.

We got him the week my oldest daughter finished second grade. The fuzziest ball of yellow cat fur you ever saw. He was a character from day one. He didn’t like to be petted like other cats we had known before. He liked to be held, lying on his back in your arms while you rubbed his face. He would lay there purring for as long as you rubbed him.

When he was bored, he went visiting. While school was in session he would cross the playground behind our house and wander into any open class room door, just to see if someone would rub him. I was called to the school so many times to get him that they finally just found a spare closet, put his name on the door, and tossed him in whenever he showed up for a visit. “Boogedy’s Office.” A dozen years later, the school staff can still show you, with a fond smile, where “Boogedy”s Office was, even though we moved and he stopped visiting more than ten years ago.

Boogedy was the neighborhood cat. He never stopped his visiting. He walked the neighborhood looking for friends who would amuse him. Every kid in the neighborhood knew him. He would stop to rub against any leg that wasn’t moving when he happened by. Affection was his due, in his mind, and the world was formed for his enjoyment. People were here to provide whatever he needed, whenever he needed it. A new dog in our house needed to be put in his place, then was tolerated, as long as he didn’t get too much attention. If you started petting or brushing the dog, Boogedy would soon barge in and demand his share. He ruled the roost until he went missing three years ago around Easter.

We had known that he was at risk, wandering outside on his own, but he would have it no other way. Try to keep him in and the wailing and screaming he would put out was unbearable. When he was finally let out he would run as far as the middle of the deck, then calmly sit and stare back at you with a smug look before starting the bath that he could just as easily have done inside. One day he was just not around. He had gone out and had not come back. We looked for him, but feared the worst when he still had not returned after several days. After two weeks we had given up hope of seeing him again, until a neighbor girl told us that a girl from school had told her that she had gotten a new yellow fuzzy Easter kitty.

A little detective work got us to the right house. We spoke to the people there and heard a familiar plaintive yeowl coming from the basement. I called his name and soon a familiar yellow cat was rubbing his head against my leg, begging to be picked up for a face rub. Now here is where life gets a little funny. The woman who “rescued” the “poor, abandoned” cat who came wandering to their house had taken him to the vet for a check up. She had just moved in with her sister’s family, bringing all her “good furniture” with her, and she wasn’t going to have a cat clawing it all up. So, she had the vet pull out Boogedy’s front claws.

Boogedy never had a chance to prove himself. For over ten years he had lived in our house and had never clawed the furniture. He had never climbed the curtains or shredded the lampshades. He never showed any inclination to anyone that he was destructive, but because he “MIGHT” have done it, he needed to be declawed.

Boogedy acted like he was ashamed of himself for what had happened. When we got him home he hid in the house for days. When he finally decided he wanted to go outside again, we allowed him out with great misgivings. We knew the risks of letting a defenseless cat out were great, but finally could not refuse him. His first time out he ran across the yard and hit the back fence to climb to a favorite sitting spot. When he had no traction and slid down the fence into a heap on the ground I could almost feel his shame and chagrin. His life had changed. Other neighborhood cats started coming into the yard and knocking him around. I had to break up three fights in the first two weeks he was home to save him from injury. Finally he just stayed close to the house, rarely leaving the deck for any distance or length of time.

Last night Boogedy climbed up on the sofa and sat next to the wife and me. We rubbed his head and petted him for a long time. If we stopped, he would reach out with a tentative paw and pat at us until we rubbed him again. Finally, he had enough and yelled to go outside.

The two dogs from a nearby street that killed him cornered him in the back yard. He never had a chance. You see, his claws had been pulled. He might have misused them, so they had to go. I don’t know if the old guy could have saved himself if he still had his claws, but he would have had a chance. Last night he had none.

I can’t sleep tonight. I miss my Boogedy cat. I miss him and I am afraid because of the lesson that he died to teach me. He died, in part, because of the well meaning intervention of someone who decided that, “for his own good” he needed to be disarmed. He “might” have caused damage if he had been left in possession of his God given defenses, so those nasty claws had to go. Someone who “knew better about these things” had decided. He had no argument to make and I was not there to speak for him. Disarming him did nothing to keep him from causing damage; he never had and never would have anyway. Disarming him only made him vulnerable to bullies and resulted in his death.

I have learned the lesson that cost me my cat. Those who would take you in and take care of you are much more interested in the “taking” than in the caring. They disarm you for their own benefit, not yours. Their primary concern is their own comfort and plan for the future, not whether you live, or suffer and die. They protect the bullies, and allow them to run free, with as much or more enthusiasm as they will show in protecting you. They see no difference.

I will not accept the idea that just because I “might” misuse a rifle, or pistol, or an (Oh my God!!!!) assault weapon that these tools of defense should be taken from me or any other free citizen. I will not be disarmed. I will not allow someone who thinks that they “know better about these things” take away my God given defenses. I will not allow those I love to be made vulnerable to the bullies around them, defenseless against those who are allowed to run the streets, looking for fun in injuring or killing others. And if the “dog pack” comes to corner me in my backyard, hoping to knock “the old guy” around a little, they will find that my claws are sharp and I know how to use them.