Death Of A Stray Kitten

All personal issues fail to meet the stark cruelty of the world. The reality of that was renewed in my conscience tonight. Everything else is secondary to it. It was a mostly good night. We performed well. We were drinking and having fun. There were stray kittens around. I remember people commenting on them and calling them cute. They were probably hoping for some food from skramz kids getting drunk and high eating pizza. Someone left the show and didn't see that one had run under their car. Its' head was crushed by a wheel. I think its' sibling was nearby. It didn't understand what had happened. Cristina put the frail little white body into a plastic bag. I walked over and took the bag. I turned on my flashlight, and there was so much blood on the asphalt. The person was long gone, and they probably didn't know either, it was purely an accident. 

I felt the still warmth of its stiff body through the plastic. I made a half-joke about SLC Punk saying I wasn't ready for this but really I was serious. I felt like I truly understood the pain of the scene when the main character finds Heroin Bob dead. I was having a good time, we were having a good time. Without a care in the world, and here this came to haunt me at the end of the night. I started crying in the car, holding the crinkled black plastic bag between my legs on the car floor passenger side. It probably weighed 6 pounds. It was just a baby. I have nothing intelligent to say about it, nothing to learn from it. There's no substance. Just a painful experience that I think I need to write down here for my sanity. 

After I had finished crying in the car alone, I came to find Will from Smother, Cris, Dom, and I think Sam at the curb on the other side of the lot, with the living cat. I was in a sore way so I don't remember anyone else there. At first we didn't want to ruin Dom's night and tell him, then Cristina did while I was in the car. We decided to take the cat with us. Dom named her Ripley like from Alien cause she's a survivor. I think she's his cat now. It was very sweet and I started to cry in the car when he pet her. We drove to my house, took her to the bathroom to separate her from my cats. Then we unloaded everything into the house. I took the body to the soil under the Seville orange tree. I dug it a shallow grave. I opened the bag, and pet it for a bit. It was so small, pure white. It's eyes had popped out of the head and the skull was fractured. The rest of the body was intact. It was so stiff. The fur was still soft and it was still warm. I didn't want to be a coward and I wanted it to feel loved when it was buried. So I cautiously picked it up it with my bare hands and gently placed it in the grave. I stroked its fur gently for a minute and tears began swelling again as blood got on my hands. We buried it in my yard. We'll make a proper grave later but for now there's a stone over where it's buried. I hope somehow it knows we loved it. I've been up for 23 hours, I'll fix any grammatical errors later. I can't remember how apostrophes and possession works with 'It' in English, I didn't go to high school. It doesn't matter anyway right now. Good night.