Mine, my dear Calico, died today. The sweetest little kitteh who was born with Cerebellar Hypoplasia (occurs when the cerebellum, the part of the brain which controls fine motor skills and coordination, is not completely mature at birth.)
I rescued from her from hot shed four years ago. Her condition left her a permanent, albeit wobbly, forever kitten.
Even though she was in her own little austistic world, she was happy and a joyful little thing.
The maniac alerted me to a “loud wailing sound” this morning. I sleep with earplugs.
I rushed in her room she shares with my other cats. She was stretched out dying in the cat pan.
I had heard that some cats with CH suddenly have strokes. I tried to revive her, but she was gone within a few minutes.
I gave in and tried to get support from the maniac.
He somehow offered a measure of what FELT like real human caring.
So against my better judgement I leaned on him for emotional caring while he was home working all day.
Since I couldn’t imagine him actually digging Mine’s grave out back, I went on a hunt for the shovel. After an hour, nothing.
I asked him to please stop by his parents to borrow a shovel. I also gave him money for booze and tums.
I very rarely drink, but this tragic event required it.
He returned with the shovel after telling me he had the shovel last but somehow lost it after digging up a small tree in the yard.
He returned with a shovel and then explained he didn’t bother to get me the booze or tums because it was getting dark. I was perplexed and pointed out that I both asked him and texted himt please bring back all of it.
It was already dark for a half hour. I let myself get angry and narcissistic injury was unleashed.
He called me a fucking bitch and said fine he would go the things now.
He then started out the front door and ran into the shovel I was holding.
He started screaming out the front door how I am a fucking bitch, how I hit him with the shovel (that he walked into) and that I better act nice and apologize.
Perhaps death hardens me more, but gee whiz, no I wasn’t going to apologize to a man telling me I am a fucking bitch the day my beloved cat died. Not this time.
He then threw my money at me and said no he wouldn’t pick me up any booze or tums.
He started screaming I can’t sleep in his bed anymore, that I better give him a lot more money to stay here, that he should have left me years ago, that I am a fucking bitch and better learn to be nice or I’ll end up with 10 cats alone.
I went outside and spent hour digging a deep grave for poor little cat.
I chopped through large roots and lifted many rocks.
As I went through this, I reminded myself how, like clockwork, Narcs and Socios ALL pounce on you when you’re down.
Your fraility is an offense and they get a manical glee I am certain from kicking you down further.
When I came back in, the NarcSocioManiac proceeded to further berate and threaten me.
I am now of the firm belief, nay KNOWLEDGE really, that he wants to actively destroy everything for me.
A few nights ago when he was drunk and telling me to leave, he told me how nothing in this house is MINE.
Things I bought myself and have proof I bought he claimed were his.
He laughed when he said “you have nothing.”
So there is truly evil lurking in him.
So sitting here stone cold sober, with an empty stomach and a heavy heart I am facing a very scary mission.
To stay calm and quiet and keep myself from screaming how awful this fiend is.
Honestly am scared(not because he is violent physically, no because his mind is weaponized and homed in on me)
Just praying, wishing and directing all energy to getting money made finally and fleeing this insane nightmare.
Don’t EVER think the Narcs can suddenly care. Don’t take sociopaths feigned caring as real.
You don’t matter to them after they have EVER devalued and discarded you.
Don’t be me. LEAVE SOON AS POSSIBLE.
