First off let me start by saying I really don't blame the cat...
Before I begin there are a few things you need to know about my sister.
1. She likes to have fun.
2. She likes to have fun HER WAY.
For the majority of the time this really isn't a problem. But when she is a five year old kid and you are a bushy-tailed 'kitty' that doesn't liked to be squished, hugged, tackled, pulled, or in general tortured, this is a very big problem.
Oh, one more thing you need to know.
3. She is the oldest child...which means when she was little, the animals were her only playmates.
Fortunately she had a lot of pets on hand.
Unfortunately, they weren't as fond of her as she was of them.
For example, she used to push the baby goats in her baby swing. She thought it was the greatest.
They didn't.
It's a miracle nothing died.
Well...until Moose...
After she was born he started living on top of the bookshelves (the one place the little toddler couldn't reach him), but every once in a while he would get caught and thoroughly tortured until he managed to escape once again.
On one specific day after his torture session, my mother came home from a doctor's appointment. She was pregnant with my big brother. As she walked in the door, the cat looked from my sister, to her pregnant belly, to my sister....to her belly....to my sister...and ran straight out the door, down the drive, and to the road where he got hit by a car.
I tell you that cat knew. It knew there was another one coming, and 2 on 1 apparently didn't seem very fair to him.
So Moose, the cat, committed suicide.
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