a story about when i was younger

Essay by killerkangaroosA-, March 2003

download word file, 3 pages 3.3 2 reviews

Downloaded 143 times

When I was young...

The sun's rays beat down on my heavy down coat, but the

trouble to take it off couldn't be made. Screeching to a jolting stop, the

submarine yellow school bus opened it's doors with a sucking noise,

similar to a straw. Shoving to the front, it was difficult not to whip

other kids with my fifty-ton backpack I transported around like a

pack mule. At last I exited the transport and shivered in the cold wind

which but a few seconds ago beat me through the thick glass. Glancing

casually left and right, I ran across the small cul-de-sac to my house.

At the door, I had barely raised my hand to the handle when I felt the

door swing inwards, I involuntarily swayed forward a bit. My mom

greeted me as she usually did, and I gave the hug she had become

accustomed to getting and I to giving.

My aunt had promised to take my sister and I to the candy store

that day, as she was leaving tomorrow. Feigning what I was sure to be

an excuse to stay home from the trials of kindergarten, my sister had

been home sick, but I hoped my aunt and I could go to the candy store

alone. My aunt was sitting in the great room, perched on a chair

looking at me. My mom followed close behind. Not really noticing, but

feeling apprehensive anyway, I asked my aunt if we could go to the

candy store. I got about half way through my sentence when I was cut

off by my mom pointing to the stairs. I glanced casually at the beige

steps. My mouth decided to disobey my brain and opened aghast.

Sitting daintily on the stairs was the sweetest kitten the world

will ever see. She was the runt of the litter, so sitting on the stair, her

ears didn't quite make it to the line of the ascending stair. My throat

closed up, I couldn't think or say anything for quite a few seconds. I

had wanted a cat since I was six, and being eight now, I felt I had been

waiting for a cat for an eternity. My mom had claimed she didn't like

cats, didn't want a cat. Looking at her eyes while she watched the

kitten along with me, I knew all her protests were just a facade.

Although she didn't actually admit to loving the cat until six years

later, she kept up her facade not very well. The only thing that leapt to

my mind at the moment was "What's her name?" Sylver Moon.

Later I insist I did not screech over the cat when I first saw her,

but my aunt and mom have tried to convince me otherwise. I tried to

be as knowledgeable as an eight year old possibly can, asking about her

breed, food, ect. Looking back, I know I asked those questions from

another planet, because here on earth, I was staring adoringly at the

Sylver Moon.

So far, the happiest day of my life and the saddest day of my life

have both been associated with my cat. Actually, what I should say

would be the happiest days of my life. Every time Sylvie walked into

the room where I was, my whole day was lightened, the stress

evaporated. My kitten has a personality, she is another member of our

household, and every night she would curl up at the foot of my bed for

her "beauty sleep". I felt my life couldn't be the same without her, and

I know now that I was correct.

Last April, my family and I learned my dad had been offered a

job in England, and we were excited about the move. I was excited too

until the devastating news hit me that my cat would have to spend six

months in quarantine down in London. The thought of my baby cat

(She is actually 6 years old) having to spend half of a year in cold,

cramped quarters without human touch almost made me hate

England and the thought of moving there.

The next day, an offer came through the rumour mill that my

uncle, who lives in Seattle, had offered to kitty-sit my cat for the three

years were signed up for in England. I suddenly had to decide whether

to be selfish and take my cat with me to England, probably

emotionally damaging her, or to spend a sixth of her projected lifespan

without her.

There was no option, really. I couldn't suffer my cat to six

mouths in what resembled jail. To my uncles house she would have to

go. I brought her there, and said my good-byes. I was heartbroken, she

ignored me. Who wouldn't? She was surrounded by peace and quiet for

the first time in her life. She is a very spoiled kitty now. My uncle

keeps buying her 'kitty string' ,'Krazy Kitty Karats' and 'Gourmet

Fish Tarts'. I don't think she'll want to leave. I'll just have to convince

her I can spoil her even better.

I think I made the right choice, sending her to Seattle instead of

forcing her into quarantine. I know she would never be the same after

an ordeal like that. Sometimes the action that hurts the most is the

action that ends up for the best.