When I was in eighth grade, I had a cat named Tandy. She was just a sort of calico barn cat, but I loved her sooo much. I've always loved animals, and Tandy was special to me. The problem was, I couldn't afford to have her spayed. I tried to be careful not to let her out when it was "her time," but, well, she managed to meet up with a neighborhood boyfriend somehow. I loved Tandy. I was really happy she was going to have kittens.

Then I found a poor three-legged cat I named Long-John-Silver. I'm not sure whether I have the right pirate, but you know, the pirate with the wooden leg. That's what I was thinking of. I was told that he had been accidentally caught in a trap and probably chewed his own leg off to save his life. God, I loved that cat! Having been such a fighter with such a will to live! It must have really hurt him. But he was fine. He was really a love, and could do just about anything. It didn't seem to bother him that he was missing one back leg, except he walked just a litle crooked, sort of like a drunk.

After a while, Tandy had her kittens...five beautiful little tiny kittens. They were just babies; their eyes weren't even open yet. I knew I would have to find good homes for them when they got to be about six weeks old, but right then, they were still tiny nursing babies. Tandy was such a good mother - always spending timy with her kittens and taking such good care of them.

Well, anyway, I went to school this morning and...ahhh...well...I'm not sure I can say this. I guess I've gone this far and I'd better finish. God, this really hurts!

I came home from school that afternoon. I think it was around 3:30. My mother was in a horribly nasty rage. This wasn't very unusual. She had been drinking again. I started to go to my cats and kittens, and she stopped me. She said, "They aren't there. We can't afford to feed all those cats."

I looked at her kind of funny. Where were they? What had she done with them? Were they all right?

My mother said, "I put them all in a sack. Then I tied the sack to the exhaust of the car and turned the car on."

What? She'd killed my cats? I couldn't believe it. Something inside me knew she was cruel, but just couldn't believe this. I thought about Tandy and Long-John and the tiny baby kittens. Oh, God! It was so awful! How they must have fought. How they must have cried. How scared they must have been.

She said, "They're out behind the garage if you want to go get them."

I went out, and, God forgive me, I couldn't bear to look at them. I buried the whole sack without ever looking inside. It weighed about fifteen or twenty pounds. I just couldn't stand to see my babies dead. It still smelled like exhaust. Of course I had heard that exhaust fumes were dangerous, and knew a little bit about carboon monoxide. I just hoped they passed out fast. I cried. Every shovel full of dirt I dug was like digging a deeper and deeper hole in my heart.

I think I've always felt guilty about this. Somehoe, I know I might have been able to do something if I hadn't gone to school. If only I had been there. Maybe I could have done something. Maybe I could have stopped her. If I really had to get rid of my cats, maybe I could have found homes for them. I don't know. It's just such a horrible memory. It's not the worst, but it's right up there. I wish I could just erase it and undo it and never have had it happen.

I know I feared her. I also loved her. Maybe a part of me hated her too. I don't know.