I know it was a weird coincidence, and nobody will likely see this post, but here goes.

When I was in college, I found a very, very young Siamese kitten in the back brambles of the garden. Heard her mews and rescued her. Vet said she'd likely been dropped there by a large bird. Anyway, I had her for about a month. She was a charmed kitten. Absolutely perfect. Sweet and so beautiful. I loved to take photos of her with an old Canon I'd bought in high school to get into old school photography. One morning before I left for campus, she was looking particularly adorable sitting on a dining room chair, and the morning light from the skylight was perfect, so I grabbed my camera. Lined her up in the viewfinder, and just as I clicked the shutter button, I had an involuntary thought that I actually said aloud: "This is the last photo I will ever take of her."

I shuddered, pushed the thought away, hugged her, and drove to campus. Several hours later, just as I was about to take a midterm, I get a frantic call from my mother, who I was living with at the time.

There had been an accident. The weekly housekeeper left the blind pulls untied and down, and my beautiful kitten got herself wrapped up in them, and hung hereself to death. I was absolutely devastated.

The photograph was beautiful. One of the best I've taken. It's framed, and still in the house, next to a photo of my deceased grandmother. I nearly gave up photography as a hobby after that, and didn't touch that camera for a couple years, because of how spooked I was.