I think I killed a cat. Last night the cats were at it again. I have transformed sleepless frustrating nights into fun urban wildlife sport by having a couple of water baloons at the ready. Listen it's not like I'm nailing feral cats everynight it's just that they start doing the feral cat thing which is fighting, and yowling and hissing and none of the nieghbors do anything other than complain. So a well placed near miss with a small water baloon is 1. kinda fun and 2. stops those suckers in a heartbeat. So they started up, they were in range and heck, I tossed one. Immediate satisfaction. No more yowling.
So I get up and look at where the cats were and the big one is laying there... not moving. Uh oh. I go back inside. I come back out. No movement. Uh oh. Uh oh. I quickly get rid of the evidence, emptying the remaining projectile in the sink and hide the bag of yet to be filled ones deep inside cupboard in the kitchen. I wake up my wife and tell her hoping for "of course you didn't kill the cat, he must have already been dying" or "of course the cat's not dead, he's just sleeping." What I get is "You're horrible. You killed a cat." Great. My mind is racing, Zoe will wake up and see the dead cat. The cat is in place where it can't easily be retrieved and we are going to see a slowly decomposing cat everytime we come out on the balcony. Zoe will smell the dead cat and see it but of course this won't matter because as soon as Zoe get's up my wife will tell her that your father killed the beautiful black and white kitty. Oy yoy.
I go back and look at the cat. He moved. Bastard.
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I can so empathize. You may have heard me recount this tale before, too bad. So Sherri and I are staying at our friend Nan's apartment in Seattle. We are sleeping on a hide-a-bed. I wake up in the middle of the night and find her kitten in the bed laying between us. The only problem is that it's not moving, totally limp. I'm thinking, oh my god I've rolled over on it during the night and it's dead. I'm embarrased and a little freaked out. Just then I spy an open window and hatch a plan. I'll drop the lifeless body of the cat out the window and in the morning we'll all think it fell (ya, right!) But before I can execute this ill-conceived plan I looked back at the kitten just in time to see it's lifeless body come back to life (as in wake up), stretch and meow, as if to say "what's up?" Friggin' cats.
Bob
Ah yes I remember the story. I did the same thing to Frank one night in a trailer in long beach. I really thought he was no longer amongst the living. He was fortunately or unfortunately depending on how one felt about him.
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