My cat Albert taught me how to cry.

When I was 13 my cat Albert, ran away. After a few days, when it looked like he was never coming back, I started to cry. I cried so much I thought; should a 13 yr old kid be crying over a runaway cat like this? I roamed the neighborhood after school, day after day, looking for him, calling his name. I would sit and stare out the window waiting for him to walk up the driveway. And then I would cry. I never found him. He never came home. And eventually I stopped crying.
I've cried a few times over the years. I cried once when I watched a documentary about the life and death of John Lennon. I cried the day after Sept. 11th. I don't cry at funerals though. Which makes me feel guilty. And I always think about my cat Albert at a funeral. And how I was so worked up then, but not emotional now, at my aunt's or grandfather's funeral. I wonder what that means. I haven't cried in a long time. Although I did tear up when I watched Fahrenheit 9/11.
I always felt better after a good cry. Maybe I should do it more often. Maybe I should get another cat. Maybe not, they always run away.