//Info//
Death
—
I was sitting in my room when the news came. But for some reason, I couldn't cry. My grandpa had passed away of a heart attack. He was the greatest, he'd take us for rides, he'd share his cereal, he'd let me watch what I hasn't supposed to.
I loved him. But for some reason, I couldn't cry. My brother cried himself to sleep that night. The day of the funeral, some officers came out to honor him. He was a retired sheriff.
I was 8 years old, and didn't cry. Guess that spiraled.
A few months earlier my great grandfather had passed peacefully in his sleep.
A few years later, my great grandmother passed away to corona virus.
And now, there I was, 13 years old. Crying over a cat I had for 10 months.
I had years with the family I lost, and yet. I only cried for a simple cat. He died unfairly. He got a disease rare for his age.
Present time. I'm standing over a black cat shredded to strips. She was an old cat, 14 years. She finally lost her last fight. I'm crying, tears running down my face as I lean down to pick her up. Her green eyes are dull and her fur is soft.
But the familiar cold body, that cold feeling she has. It's just like last time with the one year old cat I had. The same doll like coldness of a dead animal.
//Author's note//
Don't worry, my old lady isn't actually dead.
