Someone on a local message board PMed me that there was a black cat on the side of the road about a mile from my house. I'm 90% sure it wasn't him. It's belly was too small, though I know he could have lost weight. Head and feet seemed to small, too. It was hard to tell, because I couldn't see both ears or eyes to look for his spots. I didn't even think to look closely at his front feet, but that might have meant touching it. Luckily it wasn't mangled. That shit is traumatizing for me, even if I'm not looking for my own cat. I knew I'd cry either way. Nothing at the pound.

I had to hang up on my brother, Scott. He asked what we'd been doing, I told him looking for my cat, that he'd gotten out. He said, "Oh, it's gone." I lost it. I had just been thinking yesterday morning that if I told him or Dad or my other brother about this, they might be shitty and I'd have to either cuss them out or hang up on them. Don't they understand how I feel? Don't they understand that I had to look at roadkill today? I feel on the verge of crying at all times.

My email to my brother (this morning):

I know you don't give a shit about animals or pets, but what you said was an incredibly insensitive thing to say to someone who does. Not to mention that I'd made my third trip to the pound yesterday, and had to stop and look at a dead cat on the side of the road that looked a lot like Buzz. As far as we're concerned, he's a part of our family and has been for 11 or so years.

You know it's not like me to hang up on someone, and I hate it when someone does it to me. I felt like a raw nerve, and still do today. I had even thought that if I talked to you or Allan or Dad, you might say something shitty to me and I wasn't sure how I'd react. Because I was in a public place, I couldn't exactly cuss you out, as much as I wanted to.

I guess that's all I have to say.