My Narrative

Avery Herbon

Mrs. Ogborn

AP Lang and Comp

30 August 2012

The Change in Me

            On the eve of an ever so cold night, I sat in the living room watching Christmas movies I had only seen 100 times before. Sitting on the couch, I look outside to find the falling of small snowflakes. Watching each one hit the television screen, and how it disintegrates into absolutely nothing while hearing the echoes of the Grinch’s menacing voice throughout my house. I turn to the television once more and laugh as the Grinch places the reindeer antlers on his poor dismal dog. I zone out and think about what is to come the next morning, when I hear a menacing crash.

I look under the tree to find our new Dachshund puppy Cash chasing our cat Kitty. Cash prances over the red velvet mat placed under the brightly lit tree. We giggle as he chases the cat in circles, and smile when he jumps onto his back. A few moments later, we all stop smiling. We hear a soft whimper in the back corner behind the tree. My dad goes over and watches at the cat scurries away with small red dots following his path. I look up at him asking what happened. He picks up the cat to see that he had bit his own tongue during the quarrel. I look at him confused asking if he will be okay, and he replied saying of course.

            As my dad clutches him into his arms, my mom leads him into their room in which they place him in the small dog cage. As I stare at the vibrant red dots spread across the living room, I stare at the felt mat and saw that no matter how much brighter the blood was… all I could think of how dark and unpleasant they seemed. That cat had been with me since I was one years old, and how having him waiting for me on my bed each day that I came home from school felt normal. For over 10 years he had been waiting for my return from the everlasting school day, and accompanied me to sleep every night. He had been there through each move, each bad day, and whenever I needed someone to just hold. He was there. Thinking about life without him was so unreal to me. I was only a child. Losing such a big part of my life wasn’t possible in the mind set I was in.

            The next morning was just like any other Christmas. Us kids staying up to see Santa, but accidently falling asleep in the process. But somehow, we get up earlier than any other normal day; tearing into presents with paper that took hours to wrap, in a matter of seconds.

It was the day after that wasn’t normal.

I woke up to see that Kitty had not been let out of his cage. I walk up to my dad and asked him what had happened to Kitty. He stared at me blankly. Still looking at me, but had seemed as if he was trying to look at something else. Like he could see the answer in my eyes, but didn’t know how to say it.

He looked at me. “He died. Christmas morning.”

He grabbed me hard than he had ever grabbed me before as the tears gushed from my eyes onto his pale grey t-shirt. I had heard the echoing whimpers come from my father as I had my head on his chest.

I had NEVER seen my dad cry before. Ever.

I had stopped crying as he told me that he had not told us because it would have ruined Christmas for us.

I had looked at him with my puffy eyes and flaming red cheeks and said, “Where’s Kitty. I want to see my Kitty.” I said it over and over as I went on a rampage through the house searching for something I knew could not be found. Then I collapsed to my knees and fell into fetal position and cried into my faded blue jeans. My dad crouched down and told me that they had taken him to the vet, and the doctor’s took him. I stood up saying that I wanted my Kitty. Why would they have my Kitty? I was so distraught that I had cried and cried until I felt my tears had dried out.

Going to sleep that night I realized that everything would be okay. That things that live, all eventually die. Even the ones you think will never leave your side; they all have to go someday. Having this happen would only be the first, and if I did not let myself relinquish the pain now, and wake up tomorrow with my head held high, each occurrence of death would be worse and worse. This was my first experience of true loss. Of something I could never get back. He may have been only a cat to some, but he was a piece of my life that had been ripped away on what should have been a joyous evening. For some children it would have scared them for life; but me, I see it as a memorial for the lost soul of the first pet I had owned. A piece of me that had been let go on a day people all around the country celebrate. So I would use that day to celebrate him, and everyone else that I had lost since that day. A day to remember the one’s I love and to not take things for granted. Knowing that everything happens for a reason.