We got along so well growing up.
One night when I was twelve I was in our bedroom trying to go to sleep on our bunk beds. I was sad, my cat had just died. My brother was trying to sleep in the bunk above me.
I started crying.
"Shut up," my brother said. "Shut up."
I cried more.
"Shut. Up. Your cat was stupid, you know that, right? He was stupid."
I sniffed, wiping away the tears. "No, he wasn't," I said.
I quieted down.
Then I became angry.
When I heard him snoring, I got out of bed and went to his favorite camera. He was going to be a photographer. I took the camera in the hallway, into the bathroom. The bathroom was being renovated and there was a toolbox. I got out a hammer and smashed the lense.
I put the camera back in the case and got back into bed.
No one calls my cat stupid. No one.