A Vent Book

A second continuation

I think it's worth mentioning at this point that the females in my immediate family have always had mental problems. My mom, my sister, and me. And we all look exactly like each other!

So, uh oh anxiety. Antisocial time. Yay, my first therapist. 

Spoiler alert, it didn't do anything.

Some other things happened that year, but they aren't pivotal, so skip, thank you. Now, just a bit of buildup here.

When my mom was still around, we had our neighbor's cat leave their place a few times and come over to us. If you've visited my profile before, then you might recognise this.

The cat's name was Ember. She quickly became my favorite, surpassing even Gracie (she was still alive.). Ember really liked me, in particular, and she was basically my cat. Our typical days involved get woken up for school, have her come into my room and hop onto my bed and meow at me and purr insanely loudly like she does.

Go to school, come back and have her waiting by the door or on the couch to greet me and have me pet her. Rest of day, try to sleep, but she's scratching and meowing at my door, so I let her in, sometimes kicking her out because again, Ember purrs REALLY loudly. And will knead you.

So yeah, my kitty cat that I love and is a important part of my schedule.

Mind telling me HOW the FUCK I MANAGED NOT TO NOTICE SHE WAS GONE FOR DAYS UNTIL MY BROTHER POINTED IT OUT?? We lost PRECIOUS time because I didn't notice MY cat was missing!

So yes, I was and still am very upset.

We still haven't found her.

I miss my cat.

But of course, life goes on, and before I knew it we were moving. Oh,, but that's not all, folks!

A short time before we had to move, another one of our cats, Raider (yes, named after the sports team) dissapeared for a few days.

My sister and I looked, but I couldn't find him, so I just sat down in the den because I'm just useless like that.

My sister comes in, I ask what's wrong. She doesn't respond, so I assume the worst, and follow her.

Pessimism wins today. 

Me, being 10, alone with my sister, got to see our dead cat under a damn couch cushion in the garage with ants eating his eyes!! Yay!

That was the only time crying that I remember, distinctly, making noise whilst crying.

When our dad finally came home, I saw him cry for the second time.

I remember, when I still had school, because this happened in summer, noticing that Raider was really sick and getting thin and saying to one of my teachers that he was probably gonna end up dead if my dad didn't take him to the vet (he never did) and that if Raider died, it would be his fault.

I really hate being right sometimes.

Yay, moving, let's leave this and my missing cat behind! Woo!