DIE CAT DIE (The Tale of the Zombie Cat)!!!!

Dramatic title, eh?  Thought you'd like it.

Gonna share a couple of stories related to cats today.  The first is a cautionary tale and the other is bloody BRILLIANT in a horrible way but it happened to one of my colleagues and therefore it would be wrong of me not to share whilst laughing horribly behind her back.

 

Ok, first the cautionary tale:  My advice to everyone is, even if you think it's dead, NEVER poke a cat with a stick near a main road and some potentially cat loving children.  That's good advice - possibly the best advice you'll be given all day.

What happened?  Well, a colleague and I had to attend a community event with representatives from the local authority and police.  We were all sitting in a specially adapted vehicle with seats and a table awaiting the arrival of 'The Community'.  

No bugger showed .  

After a bit we were all a bit bored, bloated on tea and sick on biscuits.  Oh yeah, how's THIS for hurtful - I ruefully told the gathered agencies that the last time I'd been to this area my beautiful 1971 VW Beetle had tried to kill me by randomly bursting into flames as I drove it.  The police all laughed and advised that they'd 'just' been talking about it!  I'd never met any of them before so they'd just been laughing about it in general without knowing that me,  the poor driver, was about to show up.  They bizarrely stopped laughing when I told them I'd had an anatomically correct skeleton dressed as Santa Claus in the vehicle at the time which I'd had to pull out.  Laughing, I told them I'd been upsetting children by telling them Father Christmas was dead.  

[SILENCE]

I'm sure that's not a crime. I thought it was hysterical - how can you NOT laugh at that; miserable bunch of bleeders.

Anyhoo, one of the guys told us that there was a cat in a blanket around the corner and it had been there for hours.  My colleague and I went to have a look expecting to find a dead cat.  I did sort of look for a stick - if there's the chance of finding anything dead you HAVE to poke it with a stick just so you can scream and run away (no, I don't know why that's important either).  As we slowly approached the tatty looking thing  it did stir and look up but it certainly did not appear healthy.  I inched closer trying to display a  facial expression which would reassure a potentially sick/dying cat.  Clearly, my features didn't quite do it; the cat suddenly leapt into the air, across the car park and into the path of a speeding car. All I remember is the screaming of the child....

So, all we actually did for that community on this day was to force a child to watch it's beloved pet get killed horribly!

...Ah, I'm kidding - that was the FASTEST dying cat on 4 legs.  He made it to the other side of the road by the skin of it's teeth. 

Ok, here's the Zombie Cat story.  It's both horrifying and brilliant at the same time.

A work colleague (and former gym buddy) shared this with me and it's sad so we must read and digest this next bit with dignified expressions on our faces, ok?

It starts off with 'Gym Buddy' (GB) and her daughter discovering that their beloved cat had been run down in the street. They went to collect him in a blanket and, crying, bought him home in readiness to bury in their garden.  GB decided to dig the hole in the lawn so that the cat would be under the grass and in an area which would never be disturbed/dug up accidentally.  They buried him deep.

Next morning, to their horror the cat was lying on the lawn covered in shit, with it's guts liberally scattered around and it's head totally missing! 

[gag]

He was duly re-buried, deeper and with a large slab over the top.

...next day he was again on the lawn now both headless and with a leg missing.

GB put the cat back in his grave, poured bleach all over him (to mask any smell) and put THREE large concrete slabs over him.

It took a couple of days but the decomposing headless, three legged, bleach covered cat again reappeared on the lawn.  This time my gym buddy had enough and decided that they would bag up this beloved former pet and put him in the incinerator.

When her son came home he prepared said incinerator and lit it.  The flame shot up quicker than he expected which made him leap backwards

.....onto the dead cat.

Running around in horror, screaming like a shitty baby, the lad realised he'd never forget that squelching sensation for the rest of his life.  They said a little prayer and stuck the cat in the incinerator hoping that this would finally be the end of the tale and that they would never again be faced with the zombie cat who would not stay buried!

After a few hours GB asked her son whether the deed was done.

.....turns out the incinerator wasn't hot enough.  The family now have a headless three legged cat skeleton to dispose of.

Half Dead

Well, for the people who know me it's no secret that I've pretty much gone totally wrong.  Some of them even know that I've done some stupid shit to myself in the process.

I'm talking specifically about the eating disorder here.

Now don't think this is going to be one of those (whingey voice) "I've got probbbbblems, I've got an eating disorder, I've had a terrible childhood/wasn't breast fed and now I over compensate by punishing myself with food" crappy blog posts.

Fuck that.

I've screwed myself up with my obsession, see-sawed between thin-ness\being a moose and had a bloody good time doing it.  Of course, no one wants to be fat; it's the leprosy of the modern age, and so I've done some major shit to my body/system and FUCKED it over.  I'd like to say I wouldn't change a thing but clearly finding a way to eat like a bastard/contribute to Third World hunger yet stay thin would be my ultimate goal.

Well, to cut a long and frankly boring story short. My digestion is fucked and I frequently puke when I lie down.  Sexy....

For various reasons, I ended up being taken to Accident and Emergency on Sunday.  It was here that I was given 2 bags of fluids and told that my kidneys were getting a bit pissed off.  I related the story to my cousin 'Bakes' AKA my Sister from another Mother/my fellow 'Crash Test Brummie/the person I'm proud to share took it upon herself to punch a baked potato thus losing a fair chunk of skin and also felt the need to touch one of those electric fly killers which shot her across the room (a few days later she tried it again.  I don't know whether she thought something different would happen but it didn't and she again ended up on the other side of the room.  It's for reasons such as this that we really relate to each other). The conversation kinda went:


ME: ...yeah, and when the doctor told me about that, the Tidness Nazi and I had a proper Hollywood Feel Good moment.

BAKES: Really, what happened?

ME: Well, I was all wired up and with tears in my eyes I said that all this shit had to stop as I was killing myself.  With tears in her eyes she said she had to stop drinking as it was killing her.  We sort of hugged and made a pact that I was going to start eating healthily and she would stop drinking.  We're going to the gym, start swimming, take the dog for long walks and basically stop harming ourselves.  This was the wake up call I needed - that we BOTH needed.

BAKES: Cool - what are you doing now?

ME: ....eating all the Halloween sweets.

BAKES: ...and the Tidiness Nazi?

ME: Down the pub.

BAKES: Excellent. Any way, I was lying around yesterday and my legs started to hurt in a weird way.  I became firmly convinced that I'd got deep vein thrombosis and bits of the clot were breaking off and getting into my system.  I absolutely KNEW I was about to die!

ME: Faaaack, what did you do?

BAKES: Nothing.

(on the other end of the phone I was nodding in silent unity)

ME:  Well, when I ended up back in A&E on Monday they put me on another drip and when the bag was finished  they left it for a bit before attaching another one.  I was just sort of sitting there when I noticed the fluid starting to come down the tube in my arm.

BAKES: Oh yeah?

ME: Yeah, and just before the new lot went through I reckoned I saw an air bubble in the tube.  I was really worried that the bubble was heading quickly towards my blood stream, would travel up to my brain and I'd get basically cured of one thing and killed by a freak air bubble accident.  I was absolutely convinced that I was about to gasp my last and I got a bit upset.

BAKES: Faaaack, what did you do?

ME: Nothing.

(again, I imagine she was just nodding her head in silent unity on the other end of the phone)

What I learned?  It's not just me who has an inner arsehole (see previous entry) pre-warning of imminent death.  Furthermore it's not just me who, despite overwhelming evidence, simply doesn't have the inclination or self preservation skills to act on this potentially pre-cognisant spiritual tip off.  Who can be arsed?

Oh yeah.  When I was potentially gasping my last just prior to my first trip to A&E I could hear a tinkling bell ringing.  I became convinced it was the sound of the heavens opening in readiness to take me away.  When it didn't happen I became paranoid that 'whomever' had a look down at me and decided I wasn't worthy, put their stinking bell away and fucked off.  Cheers Heaven.