My little kitten
You died on 27 October, 2008, a little more than a month before you would have been eleven. It was the worst day I can remember.
I feel so guilty for the way that you died that I can't breathe. I never expected that it would be this bad, you were just a cat. But I feel so empty and I can't stop crying. I hated cleaning your litter box, got mad about your cat fur everywhere, and was angry that you used to pee on stuff after you got sick. You weren't affectionate. But I miss you so much and would do anything to have you back.
I got you from Darrell, after he cheated on me and felt guilty. After we broke up, you were all I had. For a long time, it was just you and I. You were around when my parents got cancer, my dad died, and when Joey left. You were the only one around after I used to send the boys (and sometimes girls) home in the morning. You moved with me four times. I fed you when I couldn't even feed myself. You kept me from being lonely. You kept me from feeling worthless to everyone. And you were around a lot longer than most people in my life. Certainly longer than any boyfriend or girlfriend. I used to put socks on your head and plastic bags around your neck, just cause it was funny. You ate my weed and peed on my shoes and backpack, probably for the same reason.
I thought that maybe people who were so distraught about their pets were maybe oversensitive or overreacting, but I guess I was wrong. I miss you, little buddy. More than I ever thought I would.
I feel so guilty for the way that you died that I can't breathe. I never expected that it would be this bad, you were just a cat. But I feel so empty and I can't stop crying. I hated cleaning your litter box, got mad about your cat fur everywhere, and was angry that you used to pee on stuff after you got sick. You weren't affectionate. But I miss you so much and would do anything to have you back.
I got you from Darrell, after he cheated on me and felt guilty. After we broke up, you were all I had. For a long time, it was just you and I. You were around when my parents got cancer, my dad died, and when Joey left. You were the only one around after I used to send the boys (and sometimes girls) home in the morning. You moved with me four times. I fed you when I couldn't even feed myself. You kept me from being lonely. You kept me from feeling worthless to everyone. And you were around a lot longer than most people in my life. Certainly longer than any boyfriend or girlfriend. I used to put socks on your head and plastic bags around your neck, just cause it was funny. You ate my weed and peed on my shoes and backpack, probably for the same reason.
I thought that maybe people who were so distraught about their pets were maybe oversensitive or overreacting, but I guess I was wrong. I miss you, little buddy. More than I ever thought I would.