September 2, 2023:
I hate that the kitty's terrified. Bone-rattling explosions overhead, 4th of July fireworks. She's under the bed or in the closet, baffled, uncomprehending what the monster could be.
Fast forward fifty years. I hate that the kitty's oblivious. She's in true danger, from the blacked-out violent raging alcoholic threatening to burn her eyes out with a lighter. So I lock her in a room full of books, upset by her sorrowful mewling as she lets me know she doesn't understand why she's been imprisoned. It's for her safety while the storm seethes and howls outside the book room door. I hate her loneliness and her expression of betrayal. I wish I could protect her in some other way.
Fast forward fifteen years. I hope there's a kitty in the neighborhood who'll come 'round.