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Young Imaginations | Behind the Books


When I was four years old, I had an imaginary friend. But it wasn't a typical imaginary friend. It was a cat. I wanted a cat, and I imagined I had one. I used to get my parents to put out bowls of water and dry food for the cat. They'd pour the water down the drain and put the food in the cupboard the show the cat had eaten it, then the next day I'd put out the exact same food again.


One day, when my grandfather was coming home from work, I had just "fed" my "cat." He walked through the area where I had imagined the cat to be. I screamed: "He stepped on him! He stepped on him and crushed him and killed him!"


I'm pretty sure my grandfather wanted me psychologically tested at that point.


I think my parents tried to tell me I could just imagine he didn't step on the cat and kill it, but don't be silly. He killed my cat.


We had to have a funeral for that cat. With a little cross made out of toothpicks. It was there until my grandfather sold his house.


I need to reiterate, it was an imaginary cat.


... so what I'm saying is, yes, I've always been this way.

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