Happy times.

On my tenth birthday I got a kitten ("Myran") from my mum.
For a long time I did not know what to do with the little thing.
She was so small and soft and...I don't know...cute.
In many ways, she was a ridiculous animal.
Sad excuse for a cat.

Afraid of everything, needy, clumsy and lazy.
I remembered reading a book about a kitten being put in a bag and then trown into the river.
Sad story for everybody involved.
I thought about that for a while.
But it was to far to the river. Mum would'nt let me go there on my own.
Maby I could just strangle the little kitten?
I've heard about small babyes dying in their sleep, this "infant death" thing.
Maby that applies to kittens aswell?
Hm. No.

I decided to give the pathetic animal a chance, and after a few weeks I really started to love the fucking thing.
Myran and I became really good friends, and I regretted wanting to murder her before.
She slept in my bed every night, warmed my feet when I was cold.

The day before my thirteenth birthday Myran was run over by a car.
The car did'nt stop and Myran did't die. At once.
Half her body (the end part) was kind of...flat and soft (In a bad way), and she screamed like an old lady with a troat issue.
Mum had to ask out neighbor to take her to the back of our house and shoot her.

Happy birthday to me.