My new kitten, Gatsby, was killed. Tried to find solace in Bergman’s Face to Face , and at least I know I can always rely on his films when I’m at my lowest. What hurts the most is that I imagined the future we would have together; watching him grow up. He was going to be my cat, and now he’s gone. I hope, hope, that there wasn’t any pain. I buried him, and said the final line of Gatsby as a requiem.