Growing up as a child, my first experience with death was my beloved orange striped cat, Tomboy. Since we lived in an apartment, we could not have a dog, but a cat was OK. This cat was my best friend and he would sleep with me every night under the covers to keep me warm.
When he got sick, momma and Ben, my third step-father, took him off to who knows where? There was no money for a vet. I watched from the third floor apartment stairway crying as they took him down the stairs and out the door. I never saw him again. My heart was broken. It was horrendous seeing him hauled off as he yowled in fear fighting for his life. I was ten years old and that memory has stayed with me all my life. To this day, the death of a beloved pet hurts as much as it did then.