So in the very very minimal amount of free time I had this weekend, my parents were acting strangely, and basically insisted that I come home... I thought something funny was going on, but chalked it up to them not having seen me in two weeks. It wasn't until I got home that I realized that this wasn't the case. They led me to a little grave around the back of my house; apparently, my father accidentally ran over my cat this Wednesday as he was making a hasty retreat to get to church on time. She died almost instantly on impact. At least there wasn't any suffering, but I really wish that I had been there... or at least have gotten to love on her one last time. The whole retelling of the event was pretty horrendous. My father starting crying as soon as I saw her grave... Mom told me that he has been beating himself up for it since it happened. My neighbor happened to be outside when the accident happened and came over and helped my mother bury my cat and he was crying just as hard as she was. He brought over a big rock to sit on top of the grave, and a figurine of a little girl holding her cat. That was a very sweet gesture, but it just made me cry harder. Anyway... I've been dealing with that... which probably sounds ridiculous, being this upset over the death of a cat, but it was MY cat. I've had that cat since I was in middle school, and there was no denying that she was MY cat, as she blatantly showed a marked preference to me. It was all sort of a shock, but she was getting old and already had acquired some medical issues, so perhaps it was a blessing. It still sucks though. But rest in peace, my little Mamma Cat... I miss you already.
Well, I'm off to do a pile of homework... yay school.
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