I once killed a cat. There was no particular reason for killing it, I just did. Sometimes a man wakes up in the morning, sniffs in that fresh morning air, stares at the golden sun settling above the horizon, and thinks to himself "Today is the day I kill a cat." If life were like an RPG, my favorite videogame genre, maybe I'd have earned EXP. points. Perhaps after killing the cat a warm, basking glow would consume me momentarily, only to leave me with increased strength, enhanced speed and the ability to cook omlettes without burning them to a crisp. I would put all my Mana Spheres into my Omlette Cooking attribute. But no, there was no reward. There was no reasoning. There was just a dead cat. It could be in heaven right now, kicking back with the Pink Panther and Top Cat, waxing lyrical about the 1980's and why you wouldn't get random cat killings in that day and age. No, they were clear and methodical in those days, usually employing landmines of some description. Granted, some poor children often got caught in the crossfire, or at least impaled by the shrapnel, but one could agree it was still a damn fine cat killing regardless. But not mine. Mine was savage and random, for there was no reasoning, and thus no method. It's a constant struggle of mine, that, in Guild Wars. While I quest around the world, beating up Charr (because that sounds faintly like "Cat"), I often encounter Rangers who have a Panther as a pet. Panther... the great cousin of the cat. "OMG dude, do somtin!" the Rangers yell at me while I stand behind them, dagger in hand, their panther a mere foot away from me, unawares. It could die in the heat of battle, you know, and he'd be none the wiser, this ranger. I couldn't save it, I'm a Warrior-Necromancer, I have no healing spells. A dagger wound in the back, you say? No no, that looks far closer to an axe chop than a dagger wound. I have no axe, only a bloodied dagger. The ranger has no axe either, only a dead cat. My uncle had a cat. Once. Something happened to it. It ran away, I think. It ran into my house one day while I was slicing some bread, and I tripped. There was no phone call to my uncle, telling of fond reunions and the joy of a returned love one. Only a dead cat. *flinch*