Poor kitty in the plastic bag.
Six days ago a scruffy looking cat turned up dead on my neighbor's front lawn. Some brave soul who apparently was not afraid of being attacked by a feral cat zombie then placed the small, sad corpse into a standard issue white plastic trash bag (with a snazzy red tie, I might add) and dumped the whole mess on the parkway for Animal Control to pick up. Clearly some sort of huge disorganization mishap has happened in the City of Oakland in that Animal Control no longer seems to exist despite the numerous threatening phone calls made by my roommate, Dana Gier. Now, the scene has gotten decidedly more grisly as time, heat, wild dogs in the night, and even pigeons and itty bitty sparrows have pulled apart this carcass for their own use. Consequently, my front yard smells really fucking terrible. There is no other way to say this even though, apparently, my mother has recently Googled me and does not approve of my use of the f-word on line. Although I say it on the phone often enough so I am not sure why she is surprised. But back to the smelliest cat in the world. (I finally feel like I know what Phoebe on Friends was singing about.) The fun part of all of this involves the neighborhood children, of whom there are many. According to rumor, another dead cat has been discovered on someone's back lawn. Cause of death? If these rambunctious and very loud children are to be believed, we are now living under the age of the Mad Cat Stabber of 54th Street. I am pretty sure they are right, and I am more equally sure that the Mad Cat Stabber of 54th Street is my roommate, already mentioned, Dana Gier. If you think about, it is pretty clever of Dana to try to use the very authorities that he's thwarting to do his dirty work and corpse removal for him. Reason for my believe? My roommate, Dana Gier, has made hurtful remarks to My Cat, Gerard Butler, that have seriously damaged My Cat, Gerard Butler's sense of well-being and self-esteem. My Roommate, Dana Gier, has even thrown a pillow in the direction of My Cat, Gerard Butler (who of course is far too sleek and lithe to be met by such an object). Poor My Cat, Gerard Butler. Will he be next? So far, the Mad Cat Stabber of 54th Street seems to be focusing his energies and attention on outdoor cats alone. Maybe in the end, this little episode will finally help My Cat, Gerard Butler, understand why he is merely an indoor cat now, as opposed to when we lived with his (now) deadbeat dad and that big fat tubby prima donna bitch cat in a luxury loft with a beautiful walled garden for My Cat, Gerard Butler, to explore in the fresh air to his heart's content. All the same, Dana Gier, I am watching you.