I hate death, it's so awkward, death naturally leads to cuddles and soft words of it's ok and a pitiful attempt at conveying that love still lives for the living, I hate that sort of thing. I arrived home tonight to discover that the white cat has died. I can't say this has come as a shock as the animal has been getting thinner and scragglier by the day, she was about 17 years old, that's a good run for a cat who's been hit by a car twice and still managed to keep her tail and four legs.
A few unshed blinked away tears is what came from me, if it had been my own precious boy Dusty, the black tabby who sleeps at the bottom of my bed and taps at my window I would have been devastated. As it is I'm more concerned now for my mother, the white cat Frosty was her cat, and she's obviously upset. I think anyone who has a heart is upset by the passing of life, it's just knowing that they've been extinguished, they wont look at you again and recognise you. They won't move again. Just lie still, and that's the depressing part.
That cat's been around for most of my life, it's as if the end of university marks the end of my childhood, and everything that was a part of that is ending too. Even the sodding cat has died. I'll be 21 next month, and I have never felt time slip away so quickly before. If I take a minute to catch my breath or even to mourn the death of a family pet, how many months will pass by without me noticing by the time I glance back up?
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