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My cat has died. Not only was it extremely unexpected, but it was a cruel and horrible death that I wished would never become of her. Whiskers was a cat that I grew up with. I was around six years old, she was from the third litter of my best friend's cat. I moved to where I am with her, I went to elementary school with her waiting for me at home. I went to middle school always knowing that I could come home and bury my face into her fur when I had had a bad day. I went to daunting high school. She was part of our family, taken for granted. I thought I would have her when the next step of my life came.

She was attacked by our neighbor's dog. I hate dogs, I've hated dogs since I was a little girl. This did not help. Now I loathe dogs. I don't care that some are really nice and friendly, I have been chased and bitten and scratched by dogs, and now one of my family has been killed by one.

We always had a certain whistle that she would always run up to. She wasn't normal, she ran to me when I called her, she licked hands and laid on your stomach when you were laying down. She would always be waiting for when I came home from school or church. She never scratched, never bit. She was the picture of a wise elder cat, a little larger and always with a high head and eyes that seemed to knowingly access everything.

She will be buried tomorrow.