Hope is probably the worst enemy of happiness. Ripley died today. She was put to sleep by the vet who found all sorts of diseases on her, including a form of immunodeficiency, typical of cats, which was going to put her through a world of pain. I don’t really know what to write, I have 6 million bad feelings bottled up in my throat that won’t come out. My wife and I had to go in the middle of the woods at night to bury her. As if all that wasn’t enough, there’s a possibility that all the other cats have gotten the virus as well.

When all this is over and I can open my eyes, please let me know.