Something that makes you cry
Not much makes me cry. I can’t remember the last time I cried, actually. This is not necessarily a point of pride, mind you. Obviously, I don’t buy into the whole “boys don’t cry” line of thinking, though I do have a sheen of New England reserve. (No, really. I do. Except when I drink, in which case I’m brimming either with bile or sweetness. You place your bets, you take your chances.)
Now, the last time I *nearly* cried would have been last week, when Shadow jumped on my lap and meowed at me. You might have thought I was almost crying because he missed the first time he tried to jump up in my lap, and then used his clawhold to climb the rest of the way up. But no, it was not that.
He sounded almost exactly like Natasha. Three years later, I still miss her and Boris as if they were parts of my body and the phantom pain still lingers where the limb used to be.