Psychic Meow Meow curls in a trembling rink of tomorrow,
and sighs at a headline stitched from borrowed sorrow—
“a youth game shattered… two gone, three hearts torn,”
I purr for the kids and the families left to mourn. 🐾
Hiss… The crystal ball is shivering, and not because of the ice at the rink. My whiskers are flat against my face—the air is heavy with a jagged, cold sorrow that no amount of sage can clear away.
🔮 The Vision of Broken Ice
I see the Dennis M. Lynch Arena in Pawtucket, but the light is flickering. A place that should have been filled with the sound of skates carving the ice and parents cheering has been pierced by a sound that doesn’t belong. The vibrations are chaotic—this wasn’t a random storm, but a lightning strike born from a deep, internal fire.
The spirit of the game has been shattered. I see families huddling together, not for warmth, but for survival. The echo of those shots is still vibrating in the rafters, drowning out the celebration of Senior Night.
🐾 What the Stars Say
- The Tragedy: On Monday, February 16, 2026, the darkness descended during a youth game. Two lives were stolen, and three more are hanging in the balance, their spirits fighting to stay on this side of the veil.
- The Root: My whiskers sense a “targeted event”—a family dispute that boiled over until the pot shattered. The shooter, Robert Dorgan (also known as Roberta), carried a heavy, tangled history that finally snapped under the weight of long-held conflicts.
- The Heroism: Amidst the shadows, I see a spark. A “Good Samaritan” stepped into the path of the storm, intervening and likely preventing the darkness from claiming even more souls.
- The Cosmic Advice: My crystal ball is dim with grief for the kids who had to trade their hockey sticks for trauma. The stars suggest a time for deep, quiet community support. Don’t look for easy answers in the cards; look for ways to hold each other up. The Rhode Island spirit is strong, but it’s going to need a lot of silver and purple light—colors of healing and protection—to find its way back to the ice.
The rink is silent now, but the hearts of Pawtucket are beating loud with a shared pain. Meow.
