On the way to Happy Cats Hotel last week we were all happily joking about drowning kittens when I found out that my dad had drowned loads of his pet cat's little kitties when he was a kid. His mam didn't want to do it and they couldn't afford to keep the kittens or get the cat spayed so whenever a new bundle of joy arrived, my dad stuffed them all in a bag with a brick or some rocks for good measure and dunked them in the river until they all died a horrible death. I don't know what he did with a sack of dead cats but they were so bloody poor they probably took it home and made a cat and brick stew out of it. I guess that's just the way things were in those days. Dark times.
Last year I read a story in the Metro about a man who got sentenced to a wee bit of jail time for killing his neighbour's cat. Now, I don't know just how reliable the Metro are as they seem to me to be quite the sensationalist newspaper but this is near enough what was reported. A man killed his neighbour's cat, describing it as a "bully" and a "menace". He told the paper that the cat had broken into his house, knocked over a vase and "looked pleased with itself", so he punched it in the face and threw it in the river to drown. Admittedly it was funnier before I wrote it down. Poor cat.
Tilly didn't spend very long with my brother at all. He took her back to the rescue place because it wasn't right for him, or something. I'm pissed, but whatever. She was the closest thing to me having a cat and now she's gone. I'm not allowed to even adopt a cat because I've got to move out of this house and find somewhere else to live and that's probably only going to be for a year before I move on again. I feel like a tramp, kicking my bag of shit from crummy house to filthy dump. Except I pay rent, which is an even worse feeling. I even asked about volunteering at the local cat rescue place just to hang out with the kitties and tickle their bellies, but they said no.