"I want a cat" I said to my dad. He said I could get one. We went to a pet store and I saw the cat I wanted. It was a black cat. "Lisa, are you sure you want that one?" My dad asked. I nodded. We got it and I left with it in a cage in my hands. We went home. I named the cat whiskers because his whiskers were very long. I loved him so much. But I never seemed to want to take care of it. I never wanted to feed it, or let it outside, or give it baths. So the cat didn't seem to love me. Whiskers eventually got sick. I guess it was because he was never fed or let outside and he was always dirty. We brought him to the hospital. I had two choices. Keep him for two more months and he will die. Or get him surgery and keep him forever. But the surgery also meant he might die from it. I chose the surgery. A day later the doctor called my dad. He told him the news. Whiskers died. I was so sad. I cried on my bed for weeks. I didn't go to school and didn't eat. One day I heard a noise of scratching at my bedroom door while I was trying to sleep. Whiskers used to scratch at my bedroom door. I got up and opened the door but whiskers wasn't there. One morning I heard meows near my feet at the breakfast table. Whiskers used to do that. I realized the same things that whiskers used to do would still be heard and felt. Then one day I got sick. From not eating, not using the bathroom, and not taking showers. My dad said to give me surgery. I got surgery and died. Whiskers had his revenge.