Personal Narrative: Is He Still In The Road?

I am at school, sniffling, almost as if I had a cold. My parents hunched down next to me. In my house about a mile away, a cat is wrapped in a towel, unmoving. My parents are telling me that my cat is dead. It was hit by a car.

I can’t accept it, asking “Are you sure?”

My parents are telling me that they are, they had gotten a mirror from the house and held it up to his mouth and it didn’t cloud up.

“Is he still in the road?”

He wasn’t they had taken him in the house and wrapped him up in a towel.

“But it’s my cat” I said.

I had named him I had loved him and now he was gone. At home, later that afternoon they buried the cat in the backyard, still wrapped in the towel I lower him into the hole crying.

“Good bye BooShoo” I said.

My Dad begins

to bury the cat. I cry and cry, dozens of cats lived on our street.
“Why did my cat have to be the one that got hit?” I think.
I am now 15 and still miss my cat, but I have a new one, but I will never forget my first. Although tragic at the time to my 5 year old brain my parents picking me up from school and telling me that my cat had died helped me come to terms with my loss. A few years later another of my cats vanished and never returned, this too upset me, but it was not as hard on me. This probably has something to do with the fact that I was noticeably more mature and that we believed he just found a new home, but it also helped by the fact that I had felt a similar, worse loss before.