Biscotti

The agonizing search for 8 year old Biscotti has ended. This entire time I searched he was curled up in a corner of the basement and had died in his sleep, thankfully. I'm royally pissed because after all this time I wanted to see him so bad and now I can't because he's ashes. If I had been able to get in the basement I would have seen him and had it taken care of right away instead of letting him rot for two weeks. But I couldn't venture there because there were too many webs and father decided to wait those two weeks to clean that out. I went to driving school and supposedly my parents had him cremated while I was gone. I can't believe the most special thing I've done for him is have him cremated and I didn't even get to be there. I can't believe I just went through those two weeks of complete agony because my dad is lazy. I can't believe no one is going to read this, and I can't believe I can't remember the last time I saw him and I know I won't see him again. My older cat is still alive, now a walking corpse, and never expressed anything except joy now that he's finally getting the attention he deserves. I just found out that I've been walking on my friend's grave for two weeks last night and mom can't believe I'm still torn up over it. She couldn't believe I was upset yesterday, either, after I'd only cried for about twenty minutes. I sort of knew this whole time he must be dead because there's no other explanation why he wouldn't come home, he loves me too much, loved me too much, but him being in the house was my greatest fear even though he was calm asleep and not trapped, which really is a very happy relief, although it's odd that such a young cat could die in his sleep. I never him took him for a check up. I feel like I've just woken up from the best most vivid dream of my life, I had it and now it's gone, and I can't get it back at all, and no one else cares because they didn't have the dream.

Why didn't my parents let me see him where he lay in the basement? Why didn't they fucking clear it earlier so I could have seen him in his last sleep before two weeks of deterioration? Why didn't they even ask or consider if I wanted to see him? Why can't they read my blog in the first place? Maybe then they'd be a little more sensitive, or at least understand that I'm a human being. But whatever, I'm glad they don't. My miraculous dream has been reduced to thirteen pictures, two video clips, and a metaphysical promise that my non existent son is taking care of my non existent cat in heaven. At least I know what happened to him, and at least I know it wasn't bad. Never mind that I lost him so early and my parents are negligent gits who don't care about how I'm feeling. Never mind that I didn't get to see him in his last sleep. Never mind that they didn't ask me if I wanted to. Never mind if my dad lied and actually tossed him in the trash, although I doubt that because the van smells like dead cat. Never mind that while I was listening to driving techniques my baby was burning, and never mind that I've been walking atop him all this agonizing time I was searching, that he was accessible and I didn't know it, that he is now inaccessible, never mind that my dad doesn't want me to get another kitten, never mind that I know I want to even though I know I can't replace him, never mind that because everything else is perfect. Except the meanwhile, which is that Alan's nightmares are no longer him on an intersection but him on a railroad track.