yes, the bucket. it was a poignant touch (with her hind paws, to be exact) that came with a spasm at the moment of her expiration. this poor kitty lived a life of fear. skulking in shadow, wide eyes peering out upon the world moist with wholesale terror. apparently the mood of our household was too much for her. or someone had been cruel (she was my brother's cat, after all). my cat, P__, was the cool cat and remained unfazed throughout her long life.

but this particular cat in question, who went by the name of Chocolate (and i do mean went: like a bat out of hell, to be precise) lived to embody another expression, or an apophthegm,
as well.
we were shunned by the cousins and aunts, perhaps because my father is a Jew, perhaps just because we weren't up to snuff in their eyes. visits–for whatever reason–were rare. on one occasion my aunt showed up along with her Jew-hating, cat killing doberman. not terribly thoughtful of her. of course you can predict what happens next, but i'll say it anyway: this poor kitty, sensing danger, makes for the only sanctuary in the whole house––my room. what she did not expect was that i had been displaced and my room surrendered to my aunt, so the doberman, following her [my aunts] scent, discovers a cat there and instead of fawning begins to bark. i rushed to the scene. what i saw was, i kid you not, the cat.
on the windowsill.
bulging out of her tiny skull.
her body arched with electric terror.
and excrement.
a quantity of wet. foetid. splatters.
shooting out of her tiny bowels in synchronised pulses to the timing of each sound from the dog. the room absolutely reeked....
naturally, i left the mess for my auntie.

Chocolate had lived to have 'the shit scared out of her', and then, years later, she 'kicked the bucket', both in the literal sense.

–as observed by Lb (Lucas Bass)