Choices, & Owning Up

THE THREE KITTENS I took in as strays a little over a year ago are faring well, but my mother died recently, there's a girl I like, and, well, a lot of stress right now. So, the other night, in anger, I swiped my sweet girl off the kitchen counter, and she landed on the floor, four feet below, partly on her side. She looked at me in disbelief, and I felt disbelief, disbelief at me, myself, and I. Good God, how could I? Well, after completing a self imposed regimen of personal hatred, torture, and repentence, I finally got over the guilt, even though I really hadn't hurt the little thing, she is young and athletic, very forgiving, (and somewhat of a bitch, like females in general, truth told). She just got up, shook it off, and looked at me, confused. I love her, and I promise to never do it again. Ever since, Mandi has been curled in my lap like never before, as if forgiving, and strengthening our love. Then I remember the time I threatend my sister's life, because she refused to leave my bedroom, insisted that I show her a piece of personal mail I was reading. I couldn't surrender to tyranny, and I couldn't call the cops, because that woulda only inspired ridicule, from all sides. So, I did what I felt I had to, in my desperation. Of course I regretted it, and still do. Meanwhile, my siter and I get along great, as we basically always have, with but an abberation or two. But its interesting, how we always have choices, evenwhen we find ourselves, through no apparent fault of our own, pushed into corners. Maybe I should have simply grabbed my stomach, wretched violently, and puked all over my looming sister. Or run out of my own bedroom, and down the street, and far, far away.