As the days went by, though, I gradually lost interest, and left the cat to roam about by herself.  I would occasionally play with it, but most of the time, I left it alone.  Whenever I played with Mimi, it was pretty rough, which looking back, is something I regret.  I would put her in the bed, under the blanket, and try to trap it.  It was funny, watching a bulge moving around in the bed. Sometimes, when we ate breakfast before going to school, Mimi would climb onto the window sill from the outside.  That was also funny, the way she squeezed herself against the window to stay on the window sill.  She would even look inside, and stare at us staring back at her.  

Then one day, she had kittens.  We ended up giving them all away, because we didn't want to keep them.  For me, I felt a little sad, because seeing the kittens, I felt nostalgic of when I first played with Mimi, who was now a big cat.  The second time she gave birth to kittens, we decided to keep one of them.  Soon after that, one day I came home from school to discover that Mimi was gone.  My dad had given her back to the pet store.  I think that that experience put a permanent scar on me.  From then on, I was afraid of owning an animal, because firstly of how poorly I took care of Mimi, and secondly, of how I couldn't do anything about my dad giving her back to the pet store.  

Shortly afterwards, we moved, because my dad had found a job in Dallas.  During the move, we lost the white kitten.  That account itself also exhibited irresponsibility.  Thus, while I continued to like animals, I was wary of owning one, because I knew that I couldn't take care of it, and at the end of the day, my parents had the final say in what could or couldn't be done, because they were the ones paying for everything.  The only animals I was confident of keeping were my stuffed animals, which I had grown up with.  

For a few years, I went on in this way.  Then, one day, my mom arranged a meeting with someone who was interested in giving away two dogs.  It was in the parking lot of my chinese school, after chinese school.  We walked up to the car that had just pulled in.  The lady got out, and opened the door, and out came two dogs.  One was noticably better looking than the other, which I instantly started liking.  My mom asked me whether I would like the dog, to which I gave an apathetic "sure", which was the best I could do to suppress my desire.  Deep down, I was clear that while I really wanted to keep this dog, I was even more wanting to not experience the pain and helplessness of losing him.  

We ended up keeping this dog, which we named Gogo.  I also remember that afternoon well.  The dog was very resistive to coming with us, to which I had full sympathy.  When we finally wrestled the dog into our car, the dog became very restless.  We had to keep it on a leash, to keep it from going out of control.  When we arrived back home, we let the dog out in the back yard, with the leash tied to a pole.  For a couple hours, I saw Gogo sitting in one spot, probably expecting to be taken home.  My heart ached as I imagined how it would feel for Gogo to realize that he had been given away, a thought which also grieved me when I lost Mimi.  

History repeated itself.  This time, I made more of an attempt to keep Gogo entertained.  I would give him walks, sometimes spanning hours.  I taught him how to go down slides, though he may not have enjoyed doing it.  I pretended that he was an attack dog, and we would play tag.  However, as I got busy with school, and with sitting in front of the computer more, these times grew less frequent.  Towards the end, years went by without a walk for Gogo.  I could sense bitterness in the air, as Gogo became a bit more rebellious, for good reason.  After college, I decided to go to the training in California.  As I left, I took one last look at Gogo, hoping to come back during the breaks to play with him.  That was my promise I secretly made in my heart.  

The next time I came back home, he was gone, again given away by my dad.  I heard the news after it had happened, only when I asked where Gogo was, since I did not see him anywhere.  The news was no surprise, since it had happened before.  Still, in me, a delicate equilibrium was permanently upset.

It was then that I made the firm decision to never own another animal again.  I have proven myself to be incapable of taking adequate care of these animals which have been committed into my care.  Thus, I would rather be alone than to get a pet, only to lose it later.  This was the most I could do for these two animals which must've had their hearts broken when their owner who they loved, and who seemed to love them gave them away.