My cat

If you’ve ever been sad, heartbroken because you lost a pet, a part of your family, a part of you, and when you manifested that sadness someone despicable around you said, “It was just an animal,” know that I understand your anger is justified. Such a lack of empathy is unforgivable. This morning I sat up after having slept exactly zero minutes, grabbed my bottle of vodka, and downed four shots in quick succession. When I felt my heartbeat slow down a tad, I grabbed my shovel, my heavy gloves, and my pick, and I dug a deep hole in my yard. Once that was done, I fetched my beautiful, beloved, wonderful cat’s lifeless body, and placed it in that hole, only a few feet away from the grave of the first cat I ever lost.

She was also wonderful, beloved, beautiful, and when I still cried about her loss, someone without a heart told me impatiently that she was “just an animal”. Wrong, fucker. She was a grumpy cat with a funny face that was loyal and bossy, and extremely vocal about it. Her meows were operatic, and she made an art out of catching a bird midleap. She was not “just an animal”. And the cat I buried this morning was not “just an animal” either. She was afraid of everyone but me, her meows were the squeakiest I’d ever heard in my life, and she thought my boy cat was her mom. She liked to eat moths, she gifted me half a bird or half a snake on several occasions (apparently it was clear to her I had no idea how to hunt and she was afraid I’d starve), and she was family.

I’m sad. So sad.