That Cat

Last Friday, my sister phoned me and told me that the cat she adopted died. I've always disliked that cat. But I felt a little sad.
My sister found that stray cat in a garbage bin in front of her school gate. She brought it home and put it under her bed without telling anyone except me. I disliked that cat for the first time I saw it. The cat was so dirty, and the stink giving off from it could almost knock me down. But my sister begged me to keep it, and in return, cheap nfl jerseys,she could wash the dishes for me for one year (I have to wash all the dishes of my family). So I kept it. I washed it clean and told our father that my friend had gone abroad and asked me to take care of her cat. My father didn't care about anything of that cat and whether I would keep it. Because he knew that his disagreement wouldn't work (I bet if it's my sister, he won't allow).
After that, the cat became a family member of us. But there was a strange thing. My sister took care of it very carefully, and I seldom gave it a glance. But it always followed me around all the day, like I robbed it of its food. Up to now I still don't understand why it likes me so much. Didn't it feel my disgust?
That cat died. I used to consider it as a burden. I used to hate it. I don't know where this sad feeling comes.