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Today, Smores had her kittens. Four of them this time, only four. We decided to move her from under the porch as usual and we did. Peaches did something incredibly strange and horribly evil and I beat him and threw him off the porch for it.

He moved with incredible speed and snatched one of the kittens from under Smore's paws. With a yelp of furry, I raced down the stairs of the porch, where he had the kitten by the scruff. I hit him hard on the head and he dropped the kitten, and with a sickening sounding snap of the jaws, had the poor baby in his jaws again. I hit Peaches again, and grabbed him before he could get the kitten again. I beat him over the head hard and I tossed him, no threw him, off the deck. Of course the cowardly little bugger landed on his feet and raced under the porch.

We brought the kittens back and I held the one that Peaches had grabbed in my hand. He wasn't meowing, just squirming a little here and there. Minutes later, he woud die. The kittens were down to three. It was horrible. I watched him for minutes but no sign. He didn't meow like any regular kitten. Peaches had crushed his larynex, or something, maybe his juglar and killed him.

I went and buried the kitten under the tree next to the kittens that had died in the last litter. I had to cover him with leaves while he lay in the ground. It was the saddest thing I have probably ever seen. He lay curled, as if sleeping, and I knew then that he would never grow up. He had been born and then had died the same day. It seemed so pointless, and so painful, it just wasn't fair to him. So I buried him. Brought the dirt over what had been a perfectly beautiful tan and white kitten.

God that was painful, and I didn't even know him.