I miss my childhood. It was far from idyllic, but I still miss it.
I think I realized I was truly an adult about six years ago. I had already been in the army and gone through an ugly divorce but it was a cat that brought it all home for me. I had taken over my cousin's room in Austin while he went to Hollywood to chase his dreams. He asked me to take care of his cat, Guinevere. She was a haughty grey outside cat. You could only pet her when she wanted you too. She was also pretty old.
I worked nights then too. When I came home one morning my other roommate presented me with a dead Guinevere. My first thought was that my cousin was going to kill me! I thought the least I could do was bury it for him. I had never buried a pet before.
When I was a kid we lived out in the country, so we had lots of animals. And when one died, my dad would take care of it before I got home then tell me that the dog or cat had gone to heaven. I never had to deal with the mechanics of it.
I realized that day that I couldn't have my daddy do things for me. I had to bury my own pets now.
I was an adult.
As for Guinevere we gave her a non-denominational service and marked her resting place. My cousin was understandably upset. He was also upset because apparently Guinevere was catholic and we didn't give her a catholic service.
I guess another part of being an adult is knowing that you'll never make everybody happy, no matter your best intentions.