Once upon a time there was a sad cat named Mr. Mizzle. A little boy told me he was named this because he looked grey like a rainy day.
Mr. Mizzle was poorly cared for and often abused. I knew a tall blonde boy/man who got joy from launching Miz from his high hilltop porch into the traffic below. I saw this happen many times, much to my own chagrin Mizzle would run back up onto the porch after his near death launch.
I would sometimes consider stealing the cat away and giving it a nice, clean, happy home. But I was too young and too careless to give it any real thought. If it were me today, the grown up me, I might have done something. The little girl me, the teenage me, watched in terror as Mizzle suffered abuses from uncaring 'owners'.
And sadly, a few times, I may have even laughed at those random porch launchings.
Mr. Mizzle was murdered in a horrific manner at the hands of two dumb, drunk, coked out men on a windy rainy October night 13 years ago. I'm not sure how Miz's owners felt about this. They may have laughed, internally processed it, felt sad or remorseful. I never asked.
Thankfully I didn't witness the cat's death, but it did mark the last time I set foot in that hilltop house.
R.I.P. Mizzle. You were a real characterization of one little boy's grey view on life.