Sensitive viewers might find the following stories...unsavory.
I'm finding I'm none too kind to animals lately. Specifically cats. (Watch out, Cicada's cats.)
Today I was driving in Kansas City in my rented Camry when I saw an object lying in the road. I thought it was a rag or a piece of cardboard or maybe even clothing. As I approached I realized it was a cat--probably already dead. Its head was resting peacefully against the pavement and my car had plenty of room to clear the rotting carcass, so I didn't slow down.
As I got closer, I noticed the people on the sidewalk all gathered around staring at the cat from mere feet away. No problem I thought as I continued to speed toward the feline wonder.
Imagine my surprise when I noticed the cat's eyes were open and it was staring right at me--and then, like a Stephen King plotline, the little guy (seeing its life flash before its eyes) raised itself up on its forepaws in a last futile attempt to escape the bitter Camry of justice before I finished it off. The poor little guy (for storytelling purposes, lets assume the cat is male) looked like he had just escaped from a washing machine.
I heard a violent THU-THUNK as the kitty's head hit the front undercarriage of the car and then the back axle. Serves him right--he shouldn't have raised up like that. The bystanders all went crazy as I sped away. They were treated to a gruesome scene only PETA could have made more ridiculous (which I'm sure they will after a comment like that.) I would have stopped, but
- I don't like cats.
- I don't like cats that pretend to be roadkill, only to try to ellicit a reaction from me.
- I'm insensitive.
- I was in a rather seedy neighborhood, not a good place to stop.
- I didn't want to ruin my streak.
Way further back, my sister and I were driving early one morning and another apparently dead cat in the road opened its mouth in a wide yawn as we approached. I swerved to miss the thing, because the gaping piehole freaked me out a bit but instead of clearing it, or swinging wide, I ran over its head with both left tires.
I'd like to see Stephen King finish this story, maybe with a violent return of the critters' ghosts to haunt me and my family until we cave and buy a dog (which we will promptly have to dispose of) so its ghost can take care of the cat and racoon spirits that will be rummaging through my garbage.
Go Fido, Go!
you can find the armadillo photo here.