The cat is dead.
The problem was; the cat was dead.
Well no, that was not a problem in itself, the real problem was that its death would make Sara sad and fact that I had killed it would make her mad.
But it was worth it; god I hated that cat. So many hours I had spent plotting its demise. I would run it over with the lawn mower, drown it in the sink, kick it down the stair into a well placed field of spikes.
Afterwards I would parade its corpse around, proudly showing off my triumph. My friends would gather around me like my warband and I would show them the head of the cat, they would scream with joy, paint their faces with its blood and spend the night drinking to my success.
This was my great victory. This was my ultimate goal. Everything in my life up till now had been building up to this one moment, this one achievement, this one conquest.
But now that it was dead, I wished to god that I could bring it back. Damnit all to hell. Why did I have to kill that cat?