When I was five I got a cat.
His name is Chowder.
He was the best cat ever.
He would follow me around,
look when I call his name,
run to me when I get home from school,
sleep with me,
hug my arm when I lay down.
When I was ten Chowder died.
That was the second to last time I cried.
After that many bad things happened.
I had to go through surgery,
I got many mouth metals,
my two best friends left me,
my demon of a nephew was born,
I lost my cat-friend.
Now that I am thirteen, I still remember things,
Back to the day I got Chowder...
I remembered something.
The person who was telling me about Chowder said this,
"Absolutely no milk, he is very lactose-intolerant."
I remembered seeing milk on the floor,
it was next to my nephew's milk cup.
Soon after I saw him feed my other cat, Nala, milk.
Now that it is almost time I'm fourteen,
I still hate that cat-killing murder.
I jammed his hand in a treadmill,
watching him beg for mercy.
He still deserves to have his eyes gouged out,
stabbed in the back,
burnt to a crisp,
and sent spiraling to the fiery depths of hell.
Death-Assaliant79 Community Member 
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