So it was suggested that I speak of baby kittens in my journal in an effort to get people to read it. Therefore, I will present a story. It is a story of one of the saddest moments for me from when I was a child.

So a while ago, my family and I lived out on a 6.7 acre farm outside of a small town, and we had lots of cats. When we moved in, there were a couple cats already there living on the property, and we had brought along cats from our previous house. This caused a rather large population of cats to form rather quickly as the two groups "got to know" each other (in the biblical sense). So we had kittens, and then we gave some of them away, and kept a couple, and then another cat had kittens, and we gave some of them away, and so on and so forth. Unfortunately, due to the complete lack of new cats (other than the kittens) joining the group, there was massive inbreeding in the cats. This led to a rather impressive overall size limitation a few generations down the road. However, I digress from my true story. So at one point, when there was a brand new set of kittens, I convinced my parents to let me keep one for myself. It was going to be my first pet ever (at least the first pet that was only mine), and (as you can imagine) I was quite excited. Then one day, my brother was headed out with my dad to learn how to drive. So he left, and then an hour later or so, my mom and I were leaving the house to go get ice cream or something (I can't really remember), and there in the driveway was my kitty... dead... Apparently, she had been behind the tire of the car when my brother had pulled out of the driveway. Needless to say, I was incredibly sad. It sucked. I spent a couple hours balling, and I was mad at my brother for a few days. That was my first real introduction to the concept of mortality.

So yeah, it sucks when kittens die. They're cute, and soft, and they purr. And all of those things are totally sweet. I like cats. I need to get myself into a house where I can have pets and get myself a cat.