Do you know what it's like to have someone you love refer to you as a whore? (I'm sorry if you do)
Yeah.. it's kind of like that..
.. the only thing worse is to believe it.
I tried really hard to not cry. I’m a hard ass most of the time and don’t give 99% of the population the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
I was doing really good at first. The she looked up at me with her big innocent eyes and let out a cry. She knew she wasn’t going to be coming home. The more she yowled the harder she made it on me. She stuck her little paw out of the cage while I was driving and touched my arm, pleading with me to take her back home where she was safe and happy.
I poked my fingers though the cage, and she rubbed her face on them. She still loves me even though she knows what I’m going to do. If I could take her where I’m going I would, but I cant. This is what’s best for her even if it isn’t what I want. She’ll be happy and loved in her new home. That’s really all that matters anyway.
I didn’t linger for long goodbyes. She’ll adapt well. She always has. I gave her one last hug and told her to stay inside. She was never meant to be a speed bump, or part of the food chain. She doesn’t deserve to be in the gutter or lunch for a coyote. She didn’t purr, but I didn’t expect her to either. She’s still nervous.
The only thing that made it worse was when I brought the carrier in the house and the dog realized that I didn’t bring her kitty back. She’s clearly upset that her best friend is gone.
I don’t think she’s realized yet that she’s next…
...that's right. I told you to swallow.
Holy crap. I may have to throw in the towel and make a date with the sandman tonight.
I can't keep this shit up, but I'll probably try anyway. It's just a bit more difficult when caffeine offers no help.
I'll need to crash and burn soon, I might as well do it tonight and get it over with so I have the rest of the week to enjoy myself.
I may have to treat myself to a massage this weekend as well. After all hiding... I mean moving bodies is hard on the living.
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