He was hit by a car, and the people watching him for my parents rescued his body. These are the same people who, when I was in... fifth or sixth grade picked up the body of my cat Dickens after he had been hit by a car.
Buster was pretty old - I got him the summer after seventh grade, so about 13 - so at least he wasn't very young like Dickens. But still, I really loved him, and my parents really loved him. My mom kept crying that she doesn't want to go home, and that he was her friend. They still have Chester, the cat I foisted on them a year ago, but now she refuses to let him outside (which will make him an irritating little bugger) and he's just not the same.
It's not quite real to me yet, but it will be soon.
I hope there are lots of squirrels and birds and mice and vole and shrews and all those things Buster liked to chase wherever he is.