Dexter was less than six months old when he died on Easter day this year.
I'd been wanting a cat since I was little, because I'm a cat person. But I wasn't allowed to until late last year when I got him. It was heartbreaking when he died, because he was MINE, not the family's. My first pet that belonged to me, and only me. And I loved him more than anything. He was just plain adorable. I remember waking up to him tapping my face then cuddling up to me purring that morning. Since it was Easter day, it that was meant to be a happy day. But it wasn't. He got run over by our car. Dad was driving, and I was in the car at the time. I saw it happen, and was so devastated. I also saw him struggling on the road right after he was hit. He'd been hiding behind the wheel, because we had friends over who had a dog, who wasn't as much as a wuss towards cats as our dog, and he was terrified of her. I actually spent about an hour looking for him before I got in that car, but I couldn't find him, and regretfully forgot about it. After he was hit, I got out of the car and ran over to him. I still have that image in my mind of him there, and all of the blood. It still depresses me.