Glad I found this place because I have a lot to get off my chest.
I will start with a description of my Siamese cat Baxter. 8 years ago I never wanted a cat but my now-ex got him. The ex and I ended up splitting up about a year later and she didn't want to keep him. That worked out perfectly for me because I'd grown quite fond of him that first year and he'd taken to me more than her. Up until that point I'd only had dogs and had a bad (the wrong!) impression of cats. Over the next 7 years Baxter proved himself to be the most loyal and loving pet I've ever owned. Through all of the ups and downs of life he was always by my side and was a wonderful companion. I worked a travelling job for years. That job kept me from developing lasting human relationships of any kind (all of my friends lived far away), so Baxter went everywhere with me. He became my best friend in the process and the only constant in my life.
About six months ago I moved into a new home with a new roommate. I had recently gotten another job and was about to finally stay put in one spot. Last Friday, I got up at 7am, rushed to get ready for work, went out to my car, pulled out of the driveway and then turned onto the main road. As I started driving I saw a familiar-colored lump lying on the road. My jaw dropped and I said "That CAN'T be..." I turned the car around and went back to the lump. It was Baxter, dead in the road. His bottom half was completely smashed. I cannot explain the shock I felt at that moment. I am still not over this shock and I doubt I ever will be. I went to bed the night before with him lying by side only to find him dead the following morning.
I stopped a few other cars driving down the road. I immediately took off my jacket and scooped Baxter up and returned home. There, I made him a little coffin and placed all of his favorite things inside. Then I went to a nice spot of forest near my house, dug a hole and buried him. I did all of this rather quickly, almost in some kind of autopilot panic mode, almost if I couldn't bear to accept what had happened. After I was done and all was quiet, I literally collapsed on ground in tears. I am not a crier but I have never cried so hard in my entire life over anything or anyone as I did last week. Now I feel like such a failure. This beautiful, gentle soul entrusted me to take care of and protect him and I ultimately let him down. And to die such a horribly violent death on top of that is almost too much for me to handle.
So how did he get outside? Well, as it turns out my roommate came home drunk at around 2am and left both the garage door AND the side door wide open. On several previous occasions I'd found he left both the garage and side door open and asked him politely to remember to close them. That he ignored my simple request repeatedly is a hard enough pill to swallow but his reaction to what happened to Baxter is the even worse part. His response? "Don't be such a f [gay slur]. It's only a cat." It took everything in my power not to punch him in the face right then and there.
I have not spoken to him since. I do not want to even look at him. I am so angry and I'm not feeling any less angry days later. And now I am possibly stuck for six more months in a house with this... thing. I will not even refer to it as human any longer. Leaving the door open after repeated requests not to do so is one thing but then his comment after is simply unforgivable. But I also need to accept that at the end of the day this person was my choice of roommate and my poor decision making has led to Baxter's death. I doubt I will ever be fully over this.