I am not a big crier. This is not something I brag about, it’s just part of me. Why this is, I don’t know. Maybe it’s part of the autism. It is what it is, in the end. *shrugs*

But sometimes, I get hit hard in the feels. Like this comic from Jenny Jinya. You might know her from her Good Boy-comic (here) about Death and left dogs, which was heartbreaking enough. But the first link, about the fate of black cats, made me sob in a quite undignified manner. It rather suckerpunched me.

Maybe because it’s not that long ago, relatively speaking that I’ve had to put our previous cat to sleep. (About 3 years ago. Like it was yesterday, really.) That’s about the last time I cried, as far as I can remember.

Or the cat’s anguish and not understanding why they had been targeted like that. I look at my cat, who has been on the street before ending up at the shelter. And then I took her home. She’s currently in front of the heating, very content with herself. She’s had a home before the street, so how did she end up there? We don’t know. Could be an accident, or she could have been turfed out. We don’t know. She didn’t get chipped until the shelter, and we have no information about her previous life. I don’t get why someone would have put her out. She is best cat. What was she thinking when she found herself on the street and had to fend for herself? How did she feel?

It might have hit me hard, the comic, because of these reasons. I try to comfort myself that Death loves cats, per Terry Pratchett.