Stupid Stitchie killed one of the baby cats over the weekend. It was a black Sunday indeed. :( Even though it happened a few days ago it's still sad. The baby black cat was crushed to death by the mother. It was found by Little Brother. I held the baby in my arms, lifeless and still with no sounds and no breath comming from inside it's shell. All that was left was a cold little carcass with the fleas overriding it's furry body. I touched his eyes and wished it would meow in horror or discomfort but recieved non in return. I only recieved the cold consolation of leathery eyes touching back at me as the cat's mouth stayed open in a silent scream. I feel responsible because I had heard a kitten squeeling in the early morning, but me only thinking it was a dream or one of the cats wanting more milk, I went back to sleep. I keep thinking that if I had just woken up to check on him then it would have been alright and I would still have my little kitten in my arms and not burried in my back yard in a makeshift casket comprised of two styrofoam cups taped together so the dogs won't get to it too easily. It's sad really. I don't have that same look and love for Stichie anymore. I call her Andrea Yates. I just look at her funny and wierd now. It's not the same...

It's just not the same anymore. http://www.geocities.com/sweet_jane258