Fated

Those were the rules, Tibby
the outside was not for you
however much it beckoned. As an
almost-feral feline adopted as a
rescue you had your own rules
and the country setting with a
teeming wetland right behind
and bird feeders always welcoming
flybys you felt horribly disadvantaged.
But you had ample companions in
a small female cat and lots of
rescue dogs in a home where
everyone tolerated everyone else
including the rabbits. The house
interior represented your hunting
grounds. So there were winter mice
sometimes bats and a watersnake 
on one occasion. Chipmunks too
though if you were caught catching
them, they were rescued. You were
permitted outside within the 
confines of a wire-mesh enclosure
large enough to fit a complement of
dogs as well, so the hummingbirds,
the woodpeckers and the goldfinches
could live another day without a
tabby lurking and pouncing. Well
nurtured, you were a handsome 
fellow, Tibby. What devil possessed
you at age 13 on Friday 13 to
sneak out with the dog pack in 
the rain, unseen, Tibby? Only to be 
found hours later, in the dark on the
highway, crushed lifeless, my dear.