It still breaks my heart that I accidentally killed a mouse—yes, I did that—but I did not kill Dongwa, my cat. The day he died, he told me he had to use the bathroom, so I let him outside while I was cleaning his litter box and replacing the litter. I was planning to go to the store later that afternoon. When I stepped outside to check on him, I saw my MAGA neighbor deliberately swerve his truck onto the grass where Dongwa was lying, not even on the street. The bastard yelled "Sieg Heil!" at me as he sped off, flipping me the bird.
As for the mouse I caught about a year ago… I admit I had a strange, intrusive thought. After watching that one South Park episode with Lemmiwinks, I had a dark curiosity. For a moment, I wondered what it would feel like—the idea of something small moving through me. It was a fleeting, morbid fantasy, then the mouse dying accidentally soon after, has stayed with me.
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