Before I begin I must say this : I hate this keyboard. I'm going to write to get things off my mind and my chest so any typos or errors you see are 90% because of this keyboard.

My cat died yesterday. This doesn't seem like much to you but this cat had been in my life for 15 years. That's an extrodinarly long time for a feline. Considering how my heart has heavied and the feelings I carry I feel that it is best that I express who this cat was to me and what he ment to the family.

We got the cat when I was 9 years old. I still remember the first time I laid eyes on him. I don't remember how the weather was that day, what I was wearing, who we got him from, not even what time of day it was. Nothing but that cat. I remember he was cowering under a rocking chair. I knelt down and saw the fear in his eyes. He was already medium size by this time. Not quite a kitten, but not fully grown. I reached out my arms, grabbed him and held him till he calmed down. I just held him. It's all that I can remember.

I remember naming him with my mom. We couldn't think of anything. Me, being the innocent 9 year old I was, said 'He's a boy cat! Let's name him Boy Cat!' - Thus it was said, thus it was done. B.C. had a name.

This cat became a true companion of me and my brother. Tormented through his early years of our childlike innocence and curiousity B.C. held through. He ran to our mother for protection when he had enough but the amount of things he put up with was phenominal when I look back on it all. The 'Do cat's really always land on thier feet' repeated tests. The 'What can B.C. fit into' repeated tests. Not to mention the lack of knowladge of cats all togther, our young nature and our pure facination made that cats life surely a living hell for a few years. Yet he stood through it all. I should of noticed then how much he felt at home. How much he was willing to fight for what he wanted.

Over the years B.C. made many moves with us. Different states, vets offices, all the while comming closer and closer with the family, and especially with me. Over my teenage years he became one of my only true friends. Isolated on the mountain during highschool he saw me through alot of lonley times, alot of tears and anytime I needed a friend or some comfort it's like he always knew he needed to be there. He'd jump up on my lap, lay down, purr. Never really asking for attention, just trying to GIVE some. Another facinating thing about this cat. You could tell he cared.

In his later years he became very overweight. He produced arthritus in all four feet, lost most of his teeth including three of his fangs. (I refuse to call them 'canines' . That's just insulting) Never-the-less he carried on like a trooper. He found new ways to tell us what he wanted, and dispite his old age cranky attitude you could tell he truely made an effort to be the cat he used to be. He'd still try to play when he felt up to it. He still tried to go nuts when you put cat nip on the floor, even if it hurt him. He still loved to climb up on laps, even making the effort (and I mean effort in the highest form possible) to jump up when he felt like he could, not 'when he felt like it'.

Several times in his last years he became very ill. We got worried, scared, yet every time he'd bounce back within a few days. This cat was a fighter. But what was he fighting for? It is said that cats live for the moment. They don't care about anything, make US thier masters and live with us as long as we produce what thier needs desire. This cat seemed different. Looking back now there were so many times in his life that any normal human being in his situation would of given up and pulled the plug. Not B.C. . B.C. liked where he was. He liked who he was with. How he was treated. He loved our family and thought it worth going through the pain a little longer for. Several, several times.

B.C. lasted alot longer than any of us expected. We all talked about 'when he would go'. How we would miss him. How we would be sad. Think about him. Talk about him. How he was 'the best cat we've ever seen' .

He was. All that and more.

Not only was he a great cat. He was a great friend. Compassionate, caring, devoted and above all he saw us worth pain. He saw us worth sickness. He saw us worthy. So many times he could of given up and stopped the pain. He could of been independent and lived for the moment. Instead he chose to count his moments and get as many of them as he could. He fought. He struggled with everything that came his way. He won.

Though he died suddenly last night I know he won. I know that as death looked him in the eyes and told him 'this is it' B.C. still looked back and said in his best meow speak 'Just because I can't lift my claws to scratch your bones one more time doesn't mean I wouldn't.' If he could still be here he would be, happy with his pain. Happy with his suffering. His neasuea. His bladder problems. His toothlessness. His everything. Just so he could lay in my lap one more time. Just so he could be held one more time and be called my brother.

You won, B.C.

I'll never forget that. Or you. I love you man.

So things have been a little balanced lately. Is this supposed to be a good thing? I've got alot of things going good and bad, and you would think they could be balanced by saying 'Well I've not got it all bad, after all I've got X this and X that' but to be honest I find myself focusing more on the bad than the good. That's the way things always go though. That's what we're created to be like. We are created to see dispair. We are created to be anxious and impatient and to disregard that which is truely important. Joy.

Praise God for Joy. If it wasn't for Joy I'd be sitting in a corner somewhere soaking in my own self loathing, fear, anxieity, depression, dispair and possibly a little bit of self erotisim (What? I'm not egotistical, I'm just narcisistic!) but with Joy I realize that it's all going to be over eventually. Yes, everything is temporary. A wise man once asked his pupils to go out and come back with a phrase that would encompas everything in the world and the only thing they could come up with is 'This too shall end.' How true. How quaint. How utterly vauge and sadistic. I love it.

A friend of mine once said 'It takes the most balls for someone to stand up for what they believe in' (more or less, that's what he said rather) and I feel like expressing that here. This is the most honest and heart filled statement I've ever heard and I'll stand by it till the day I die. To stand in front of all who doubt you, all who critisize you and knock you down and still say "I'm right" is the most couragous thing anyone can ever do.

My relationship has been pretty awesome as of this date. Brenna and I have connected on many levels, many of which I never thought someone could understand me on. But that's the way it always seems, yes? That's the way it always goes. You start out, it's wonderful, it's magically delicious then you give the person just enough rope to hang you with and the next second you realize your boots can't reach the end table that's just inches away from your body dangling from the celing. How did it happen so fast? You never know. For some reason you're blinded by the sugary goodness that is love and the next you're disgusted with it entirely. Am I to say with this statement that I believe in any way that Brenna is going to hurt me? Am I to say with this ventful paragraph, which at it's true extent is a personal extention of my inner most thoughts, that I expect our relationship to end in disaster? Am I to compose my own death by hanging of a lucky charms marshmellow rope? Heavens no! I'm just expressing everywhere I've been before so perhaps I can count the stars in my cereal bowl when it's all said and done and can say 'History doesn't always repeat itself'.

Yet I still find myself wondering 'What's going to happen?' Although I'm sure at this moment that I'm not going to come to harm from her, what does the future hold? Most of what I've ever gone through with a woman came from a shot in the dark. That small insignifigant bullet sparked from a silenced 9MM that came through without a trace. Not doing any noticable damage, not being felt, but eventually caused so much internal bleeding things died within a moments notice. Instead of being a repairable amount of damage I then had a mass of signifigant turmoil that was incomprehenceable. I have faith that our relationship will come to a signifigant point, and that it will be blessed with happiness and prosperity without blood or turmoil but I just wish I could forget about all the other women I've (or have witnessed) killed.

I want to be free. I want to know what it's like to run in open fields without a care, or to cast away responsibility and go with the moment. To know that at any turn I could do no wrong for there is no wrong that could be done. I want to know what it's like to be able to express myself without fear of retaliation. My friend pushed me up aginst a wall and held me there the other day simply because I told him and the roommate he was fighting with that I was tired of hearing them argue. Calm tone, passing comment, yet none the less it trapped me in what could of been a much worse situation. He tells me he's tired of me never being at the house. He's tired of me always going over to 'my little girlfriends house' or that I never do anything around the house or that he can't play music when I'm asleep. Bless you. I've done plenty here. I've paid bills on time. I've paid rent on time. I put up 240 bucks when the electricity got shut off because he couldn't (rephrase : didn't) pay the bill. I've put food in the house. I've respected privacy of the house. I've cleaned up my own mess, done my own dishes, let the dogs in and out and at some points even fed them. Alot of which I didn't have to. The house was a wreck, yes. Was it my fault? No. Should I have to clean up someone elses mess? Should I have to stop seeing my girlfriend because he fights with his? Should I suffer insomnia due to loud music simply because I'm on a different schedule than him? I did my part, don't complain because your share was bigger. You strung your own rope of marshmellows.

I am not angry with him. I forgave him the second he let me off the wall. He is a good man with a troubled heart and doesn't know how to handle the situations he's in. Perhaps I was in the wrong some way or the other, and in such a case I apologized simply for the sake of his ideal but when you're fed up with something in a living arrangement with someone else you let that person know. There was no other way for me to say it and I had no time to sit and delve into details. I am sick of hearing the arguments. The cursing. The GD's. The name callings. The complaints. The violence. I've lived through enough of it and I deserve better for as much peace as I try to bring to those around me. I'm not the messiah.