Sorry that this is a gross picture. But this is what Winston was best at: ANNIHILATING RATS.
It was a matter of time. Winston was a jerk. He ate baby chicks all the time. Someone was going to finally have it. Vanuatu isn't like America--people don't see animals the same way that we do. It's like they're property, not family, and they're very replaceable. I mean, my host parents are on their fourth cat since I met them. Things happen to animals here; they just don't last that long. In my case, one of my neighbors killed him. I'm not thrilled about it but this is so common here. Off of the top of my head, I can think of six volunteers whose pets were killed by a neighbor; it just happens. If this was America, I'd be really angry, but he was an island cat, and this is basically what happens to cats (and dogs) here. You almost never see an old animal because things just happen.
He was such a good cat, though. When I first got to site and was really scared of everything but trying hard to maintain and put on a good front, it was nice to have a pet. I'm just going to sit here, stroking my cat, don't mind me... He kept my house rat free and shared my tuna fish. When I ran out of tuna fish, he'd condescend to eat peanut butter and breakfast crackers with me. What more could you want? RIP Winston.
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