Poor little scamp.
Despite his feral state, or perhaps, one might suggest, because of it, the decomposing dead cat I have come to know as 'Fritz' lived, in life, an existence of carefree meandering across the lawns of a certain North Oakland neighborhood until that very existence was cut brutally short by the Mad Cat Stabber of 54th Street (according to the neighborhood children) or a careless automobile driver (according to everyone else unless you think it got in a fight with a raccoon which is also a definite possibility). But despite his untimely and cruel death, Fritz remains with us in his white plastic shroud. So with us, in fact, that my roommates and I can still smell him every time we exit our front door. Obviously, had Fritz had any inkling about the nature of his death and lack of body disposal options, he might have worked out some sort of contract with a neighborhood vet to take care of his remains, but tragically (for my nose) this was not the case. Thinking back to my days as a feral child living with wolves in the forest preserves outside of Chicago, I can't help but identify with poor Fritz and thank my lucky stars I did not share his grisly fate. To be honest, this whole escapade is really causing me to think of the lifestyle led by my cat, Gerard Butler, (MC,GB) as somewhat pampered. For goodness sake, MC,GB gets ice cubes in his water bowl to alleviate the fact that he is wearing a fur coat during this heat wave whereas Fritz probably had to drink from puddles of his own urine what with the ongoing water shortage. As for me, if I were so inclined, I might don protective clothing, grab the shovel that some neighborhood child left in my front yard, and just bury the thing. But I am not so inclined. I would rather just use the back door and pretend none of this is happening. Thank you.