fuck that reaper

OMG i had no idea how hilarious that sentence was going to be but i'm STILL lol'ing. actually i'm lqtms because i'm at work.

but that's this week. fuck that reaper. i don't really feel a lot of hate towards the reaper actually. i have had a good amount of people die on me, but still. i can't say that i'm mad at that. they're most assuredly in a more restful and peaceful place, and really it's only those that are left behind, those who haven't even been touched by that lethal sickle that are worse for the wear.

actually wait. lightbulb. FUCK THAT REAPER. i am pissed.



I had a squirrel when I was younger. that's him! that's really him!!

squirrelly was his name. and my first taste of death came in the disguise of a mangy asshole alley cat named sandy.

my mom had given me this squirrel, which she got from a animal rescue friend of hers. he was hands down the best pet EVER (sorry lu). he ate mangos, swam in the tub, rode around on my shoulder, and was just all around the joint. aside from just being the best, he also had maybe 24 lives. i saved this animal so many times that i really began to believe he was a magical creature that was indestructible. i think i even started to teach him stunts. among other incidents i extracted mango from his throat as he gasped for breath, scooped him out of the toilet after an unsuccessful romp around the bathroom, and pulled him out of my cat's mouth a couple days after he arrived at our house...and about 17 times after that.

he started to get too big and wild for the house. he wasn't aggressive or anything, but he was starting to shred and make nests out of my socks and underwear so we decided it was time to let him be an outside boy. so on a sunny saturday i climbed the tree in the backyard that housed my tree platform (as it was only one board wedged in the tree and held in place by some sort of support system, i can't pretend to call it a tree house) and placed his cage, opened, on the platform. i decided to leave it there and it was his home away from home for about 3 weeks. 3 blissful weeks i would come home from school and feel like a fucking forest fairy, calling squirrelly's name to which he would scamper down the tree and up to my shoulder.

WHAT!? only every kid's dream.

it was heaven until one fateful day that i came home and called his name and there was no response. i called him maybe 400 times before i came to where he was laying on the ground, breathing shallowly and twitching ever so slightly. how did i know it was him you ask? you can't see in the picture but he had a tear on his right ear from a fight he got into with my cat when he was younger. and also just because he didn't bite me or flinch or try to get away. in short, you know your pet and your pet knows you.

so i scooped him up and ran inside to my mom. he wasn't as hurt as i had feared and in a little bit he was drinking some water and able to sort of sit up. but it was still clear he was in pain. he put him in a little bed we made and i commenced to watch him like a hawk for any signs of life or death.

i didn't have to wait long. he started twitching even more and pretty soon we were on our way to our vet. he died on the way though.

i remember thinking 'wow that was fast'.

the doctor examined him anyways and apparently he had been attacked by a cat and knocked out of a tree, as was apparent from the scratches, the internal bleeding, and the broken legs.

thanks cat. THANKS REAPER! FUCK THAT.