Rolling the Boulder from My Chest

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I so did not want to mention this but since it bothered me I am going to say this and say it only once, Then put it out of my mind and go on. As you all know I lost my cats in March. I had found out I had a problem with fleas in the carpet in the front room. However, before I could attend to this problem the very next day, I got up at 5 AM to use the bathroom. Both cats are fine and dandy. Got up at 8 AM. Freddie ass over teakettle among the spokes of my PC chair dead. That would send anyone’s anxiety into the stratosphere. Tish hung on a few days, then began wailing like a human grieving. Disappeared for a day but I remembered both cats when nervous or upset taking up residence in the closet. Like with humans when they grieve, I thought I would give her time. The next day, no Tish, and the search was on. Under the couch, dead. Took me about a month to even get back to any semblance of normal. The long hot tropical summer passed and came September. I thought starting with a clean slate to talk cat with the strapping brothers downstairs who have some cats and are the sons of my late best friend. I was shocked to find out their hatred. I was no better than a cat murderer and abuser, and THEY could not take the risk of having anything happen to another cat, so no more cats for me. The sentence was read and concluded with the fact that I had not fed them enough. I wondered to myself who it was that had eaten all those 16-pound bags of cat food. Signed the recluse, old bat in the attic, among four walls, forevermore. Why do I suddenly picture the Beast in that movie in his tower?