From Crack to Kitty Litter, Kitty Litter

Kitty Litter

Copyright 2012 by Odell S. Hathaway, III

This is part of Chapter 15 of the book I have written about my late wife, “From Crack to Kitty Litter.”
Thursday, April 12 — Linda called me:
“Hi, Beautiful!”
“Odell, Carol was just in here. She is the person who took over the kitty fund from me. She told me that the money has disappeared from the safe and that she thinks I stole it. She wants me to give it back or I will get fired.”
“Oh, my. Did you take the money?”
“No, baby, I didn’t. What are we going to do?”
“We can’t lose your job, Linda. We’ll have to pay the money back. But I want you to go to the head of your department and tell her what is going on.”
“OK, but I need the money this afternoon.”
“I’ll give you a check made out to the kitty fund.”
“No, Odell, they can’t cash a check like that. I need the money in cash — the way it was when it was taken.”
“I can drop by the bank at lunch, and I’ll drop by your office after that! Don’t worry, Linda, everything is going to be OK.”
I gave Linda the money to repay the fund. She called me later that day and told me that she had repaid the fund and spoken to the head of the department. The head was upset but had taken control of the money herself. Linda could no longer be blackmailed.
I found out later that that was a lie. I was told, in fact, that on Thursday Linda had left work saying that I was ill. The people in her department had consulted with me before, so they weren’t surprised.
Over the weekend, things started coming apart. Linda was terrified that on Monday, the police would be waiting for her at work. I asked her time and time again if she had returned the money. She told me she had, but she was still scared that the department head would change her mind and have her arrested.
That weekend, Debbie — Linda’s friend — moved into our house. I was talking to her and asked, “When do you think you’ll be able to repay the loan Linda gave you for the cat?”
“The loan? Didn’t Linda give you the money for that?”
“No?”
“Linda told me she needed some money for something at work and didn’t want to ask you for it. So she told you she was lending me the money. I cashed the check and gave her the money. She was going to use her allowance to pay you back.”
Later, when I saw Linda:
“Honey, I was talking to Debbie, and she tells me she gave you the money for the cat loan?”
“Oh, yes, that’s right.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I’m sorry, Odell, I did drugs.”
“Did you do the same thing with the money your sponsor was holding?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything else you think you should tell me?”
“Yes, Odell. In the last few days, I’ve been remembering times I sold myself so I could get drugs. But it wasn’t like me — I didn’t even remember until now.”
I would like to tell you more of that conversation, but I do not remember anymore.
I had hoped that with these confessions out in the open, we might find a way to start moving forward.
Monday, April 16, Linda went to work. I was very frightened for her, but she called me in the morning and told me:
“Odell, I just met with the head of the department and she told me that since I had returned the money, they were not going to do anything. So everything is OK.”
I did find out that the conversation with the head of the department did, in fact, happen that morning.
It is clear that Linda had not returned any money on Thursday and somehow held on to it until Monday when she spoke to the head of the department. I am now amazed that Linda had the self-control over the weekend to be in possession of both the money she had stolen from the kitty fund and the money I had given her — but did not use any of it. That was a big step forward for her.
Linda called me at 1:19 that afternoon.
“Hi, Beautiful.”
“Sorry I didn’t call you at lunch, but I was busy.”
“That’s okay, how are you doing?”
“I’m doing fine. The department head has the money and everything is OK. I just wanted to call and see how you were doing.”
“Oh, I’m tired but working.”
“Well, you have a good afternoon, and thank you for helping me.”
“You’re desired!” (I did not say “you’re welcome” to Linda — I always told her she was desired.)
“I’ll see you later. Love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I spoke to the people at her office and got a different story. “Monday morning, Linda came into my office and said you had come home, taken a fall, and that she needed to get you to the ER. Later, about noon, Linda left a message saying she was at home, the paramedics had just left, but that you didn’t want to go to the ER, so she was going to stay home and be with you.”
I got off work a little before 4:00 p.m. and drove straight home. When I opened the garage, I found Linda’s car was there. This made me very angry. I assumed she had been fired, and that was why she was home early. I got out of the car and tried to storm into the house, but the door from the garage wouldn’t open completely. I tried twice and then looked down. I saw Linda lying face down in the kitty litter.
At first, I thought she was lying there to show me how unworthy she was — “no better than cat shit.” But that only lasted a second. I ran from the garage to the front door, dashed into the laundry room (the room where Linda’s body was), and tried to turn her over so she could breathe, but she was too heavy. Her face was dark purple and there was no breathing or reaction of any kind.
I called 911 and they told me that I had to turn her over even if I hurt her in the process. It took a lot of work, but I managed to turn her. The dispatcher told me to check her airway, but I couldn’t because her teeth were clenched tight. I gave her mouth-to-mouth twice, but as I leaned in, I could see that her eyes were covered in kitty litter. Then I started CPR. While I was pumping on her chest, I could hear the ambulance arrive, and the paramedics took over.
I don’t know why they worked so long — I think they were training, because it was clear Linda was gone. At one point, a firefighter asked if I had given her mouth-to-mouth. I said I had, and she told me I might want to wash the kitty litter from my lips. They worked for about fifteen minutes trying to establish a “bone IV” — I had never heard of one before, but they took a drill and drilled into my wife’s leg.
Finally, they called the hospital and got permission to stop. As the paramedics were leaving, I heard them talking. The reason none of us could get her mouth open was that rigor mortis was setting in, and she had been dead for almost two hours before I got home (no matter what the death certificate says).
It took eight weeks before the medical examiner finally released the cause of death. Linda Joyce Hathaway died on April 16, 2007, at 4:19 p.m. of mechanical asphyxia, with an underlying cause of death of cocaine intoxication. The death certificate states: “Linda ingested cocaine (crack) and collapsed into a kitty litter box.”

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