I think I've actually lost it. Officially this time.
Ok, this is what happened. My oh so thoughtful cat decided to give me some gifts for my birthday last Saturday. Three of them in fact. All of them poor little birds.
The first one, my mother kindly disposed of. The second one, our landlord did. I found the third under my bed, after following a trail of feathers around my room. The poor thing was barely alive, and there was no way it was going to survive. I could see it was suffering, so I felt the kinder thing to do was to put it out of its misery. Don't worry, I'll spare you the details.
I know I can be a bit of a sensitive soul, but even I was surprised at the intensity of the grief I actually felt after doing the horrible task. I'm talking ugly crying here. Over a bird that I had never even laid eyes on until Saturday evening. What the hell?!
Somebody please tell me that I only need to put my big girl pants on and stop being a wimp. Or tell me that it's normal, that this has happened to you too.
To think I used to laugh at my mother's cat for bringing her leaves.
I'll take the leaves any day, thanks Griffin.