It started with a dead cat, and it ended with a dead cat. Well, it technically ended with therapy, but you get the picture. Flashback to ninth grade: a friend of my mother called us up to tell her one of the stray neighborhood cats had died, leaving behind a litter of day old kittens. She said she didn't have the time or resources to care for them, and asked if my mom could take them off her hands until they became old enough to give to the SPCA. My mother, with her wretched bleeding heart, obliged more than willingly, and we found ourselves with a litter of newborn kittens for at least the third time. So the woman dropped off the 7 kittens the following day, gooey eyed and smelling of expired milk formula. We proceeded to give each one
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I picked the lifeless body up and placed it in the hole. On cue, the lightning flashed as I tossed the first scoop of dirt into the hole. And then we heard it. A faint yet audible shriek. The cat was not ready to end its dance just yet. My mother sobbed louder and at this point, I too began to cry. "Faster", my mother shrieked, urging me to fill the hole in quicker. She literally began encouraging me to bury it alive! Physically choking on sobs at this point, I threw the dirt in as fast as humanly possible, then promptly threw up as I thought about what I had just done. I just became an accessory to a crime. I just became a felon. I had killed a man. I had ended an innocent life and the iron fist of justice would surely come reigning down on me forcefully and quickly. I'd have to change my name to Bill, get a teardrop tattooed below my eye, and move to Guam to spend the rest of my days with Mr. and Mrs. Wormwood hiding from the FBI. Wait, what? My mom and I picked each other up and stumbled into the house and collapsed in a heap on the living room floor. When our tear ducts dried up and hypothermia began to set in, we decided to go to bed. I don't think either of us got any sleep that
I picked the lifeless body up and placed it in the hole. On cue, the lightning flashed as I tossed the first scoop of dirt into the hole. And then we heard it. A faint yet audible shriek. The cat was not ready to end its dance just yet. My mother sobbed louder and at this point, I too began to cry. "Faster", my mother shrieked, urging me to fill the hole in quicker. She literally began encouraging me to bury it alive! Physically choking on sobs at this point, I threw the dirt in as fast as humanly possible, then promptly threw up as I thought about what I had just done. I just became an accessory to a crime. I just became a felon. I had killed a man. I had ended an innocent life and the iron fist of justice would surely come reigning down on me forcefully and quickly. I'd have to change my name to Bill, get a teardrop tattooed below my eye, and move to Guam to spend the rest of my days with Mr. and Mrs. Wormwood hiding from the FBI. Wait, what? My mom and I picked each other up and stumbled into the house and collapsed in a heap on the living room floor. When our tear ducts dried up and hypothermia began to set in, we decided to go to bed. I don't think either of us got any sleep that