I really wish I wasn’t writing this, but it’s 1:32 AM and there aren’t a whole lot of people awake to whom I can talk about this, so here I am.
My sister and her boyfriend’s house in Virginia caught fire tonight. It was an electrical fire, which apparently spread faster than a motherfucker, and the smoke is thicker and heavier than your normal run-of-the-mill blaze. Meghan recently moved to Portland, Oregon, and her boyfriend was in the house when the fire began. Luckily, he made it out of the house with Sadie, their golden retriever. Jenkins, a cat Meghan and I saved from a shitty little pet store when I was in high school, wasn’t so fortunate. She died of smoke inhalation. Two other cats, Archie and Dresden, are unaccounted for right now. I’m not the praying type at all, but I’m praying they are somewhere safe. My sister’s bearded dragon, Bryn, also didn’t make it out of the house.
I don’t know why I’m writing this, really. I would lecture you about putting batteries in your smoke detectors or something, because then maybe there’d be a point to this other than self-pity, but smoke detectors would’ve done nothing at all in this instance. By the time the fire truck arrived, Jenkins and Bryn were dead. That’s how quick it was.
I’m just incredibly sad – for my sister and her boyfriend, Ryan, and for Jenkins, who must’ve been absolutely terrified in her final moments. I can’t stop thinking about my boys here at home, and how much I care about them, more than most people I know. They’re so vulnerable, these little animals we bring into our homes. I wish we could save them from everything, always, and didn’t have to feel so much hurt and responsibility when we can’t.