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02 November 2004 - 17:29

Ragdolls are so easily torn....

BB is crying on the inside of me. The Ragdoll is dead. And we weep. Furry little thing. She was so cute and kitty fluff. Jack petted her as we dug a nice hole for her in the hard earth, and he wished she would purr or squeak like she used to when we squeezed her comfy. He wanted to squeeze her then, but we said no, 'cause she was already really bloated and then her kitty self would pop. Then BB would've cried some more.

So we didn't go to work. Piojo almost made us go, but Yang was like, no, don't be such an ass. Anyway, it's not like BB will let us get any work done in the state she's in. Which is true. So Piojo consented, and we stayed to bury our Carrie instead.

Hemingway was there. He kept staring at us and rubbing up against the shovel as BB wept silently. He knows what death is, you know. Smart cat. He rubbed his love on the shovel and would pause occasionally to wander over to his sister's body to sniff at her exposed ear or fluffy tail. He would mew to her, but we both knew, he and us, that Carrie would never get up again. Not in this world.

So we are sad, and all I wanna do is curl up in our Closet with the blankets tightly over our head.

ENDNOTE: I hope this gets us fired from Penncro. That would really just make our day...

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