on august 13th, 1961 a wall was erected down the middle of the city of berlin. the world was divided by a cold war, and the berlin wall was the most hated symbol of that divide...
(if only all my history courses had been directed by john cameron mitchell, i'd have a degree in the stuff by now.)
forty-six years to the day after the berlin wall went up, my thirteen year old kitty died of feline leukemia.
i've had her since the day she was born, and she was a skittish little squirrel who only had a truly lasting fondness for me and my mother. when i came back from college she pissed on all of my clothes because she was mad at having to share the attention from my mom, and then mike moved in and she loved me again and pissed on all of his clothes, which was much funnier. i bought her a fancy feast and some little furry mice to play with last night, and i sobbed like a baby in the cat food aisle at safeway.
what a disgustingly powerful sense of loss i have right now.
i'm ashamed to say that neither one of my grandparent's deaths had nearly this impact on me.
bye-bye little bear.