The Day A Kitten Died

 I woke up to a feline shriek.

For a moment - a second or so - I pondered and then I was up from my bed and out of the room.

I spotted the kittens. Three of them. I wondered where the fourth one was. Probably had gone to my room. I poured out some food for the three all the time calling the fourth one. By now it should have come out.

I opened the main door and there it lay, dead. Probably mauled by a marauding cat from the neighbourhood.

I felt guilty. The kitten had been out all night because of my stupidity.

It was dead because of me.

I was perplexed as to what my feelings should be. Sadness? Or just, it happened...move on! It is not your fault. First time is a mistake. It was a mistake. A life-taking mistake.

Stupid if I do it again.

Meanwhile what do I tell me sister. 

Lie that it had just died or that it was my mistake. 

I don't know what was right but I told her the truth.

The kitten died because of me.

(And then by the end of the day it flashed to me perhaps, perhaps, the cat had got in through the open window and picked up the poor kitten and then went with the kitten in its jaws and when it was dead it left it on the stairs, But I did leave the window open.)