I'm a murderer!

Backing up out of the driveway this afternoon, I heard the crunch. You'd think it was ice, but then I heard the noise - the terrible sounds of a cat who had just been caught under the back tires of a minivan. I am a murderer. I killed my cat. The cat that I took home from college in 1991. The guy who'd been there from the beginning. Of course, poor Chuck didn't die right away. Thank God my Dad was at my house and said "Just go, I'll take care of it." I really didn't want to know what that meant, but I pulled out of the driveway and my four-year-old saw the cat lying on the ground. "Is Chuck dead?" she asked with horror in her voice. Yes. Chuck is dead and mommy killed him! Thankfully, she didn't put two and two together and realize that I was the murderer. She just asked how a cat gets up to Heaven. She wasn't happy with the explanation I gave (God brings him there). So, I started to tell her about spirit and her soul and her heart because I really didn't want to get into the gory details of burial and cremation and all that. I'm really quite immune to the whole pet death thing since I worked for a vet for over a decade and saw more than my share of animals being "put to sleep." I just feel bad because I used to joke about waiting for the cat to die. He was so old and annoying and used to run in the driveway right as you were pulling in. Little did I know he would be there when I was pulling out! The girls do want a new cat now, but I think we'll hold off. I can't have another death on my conscience just yet.