iRegret.net

This I regret:

In the summer of my tenth year my parents separated and I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle on a farm about 20 miles southwest of Chillicothe, Ohio. There was little to do on the farm, apart from playing in three imbalanced playhouses, each with its own set of lace-curtain windows and the nests of many paper wasps (Polistes fuscatus pallipes). I spent much of my time sitting beside a pond along the road that ran from the barn to the back fields trying to determine what I had done to deserve such exile.

A rare companion in my sojourns was a small cat, a barn cat, a half-feral creature that seemingly took care of itself without domestic intervention. This cat never was seen around the house or the back porch with the household cats. It was mangy and ill-fed, typically suspicious of humans but somehow unafraid of me.

One day I decided to kill this cat, and proceeded to grasp it in my hands and attempt to squeeze the life out of it. Yet the cat was too pliable, and squirmed out of my grasp. I took to swinging the cat by its tail, hitting its back against the trunk of a poplar tree. My arms were bloodied by the cat’s defensive scratches, yet I endured, seeing if I would be more powerful than this pitiable creature. Exhausted I threw the lifeless form of the cat into the pond, and washed off my arms. I returned to the house for dinner, shaking from my efforts.

A few days later I saw the cat — much to my amazement, very much alive — as it dashed under the eaves in fear of me.

Of course, as we later learn about the pathology of animal torture, it becomes apparent why this activity occurred.

I have ever since been kind to animals. I would never so much as step on an ant.

Submitted by: Anonymous