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Calico cat before/after ***Don't tell me what to do. Indians never went for scalps, but white men do. Casino's are fools gold and racial guilt combined where I live. . . and maybe you, too. I know you hate me, but I can't be bothered to care. The death of many small creatures.*** I got a calico cat last year. It was wandering around, at the end of its kitten-hood, hunting the ditch bank. I saw it and thought "I'm going to fatten you up.", figuring that being an outdoor cat, it was not long for this world. Skin and bones. Tapeworm. I cleaned her up, dewormed her, spayed, put some revolution on her, and now she's living with me. I'm not sure how these things happen, but they do. Like herpes or disco. Or the Jonas brothers or that shrill little hillbilly harpy spawn 'miley cyrus' And oh, how much *loathing* do I feel that I even know her name. She must be stopped. And soon. For the greater good. Through no fault of her own she will be found in a room with a bunch of cocaine and five big black brothers, all putting it to her and making her lash up the evil white powder up both nostrils, and this will be the end of her. Because there is nothing so much a threat to this country's morals than a little white girl getting freaky with a group of black guys. Fuck no, her sales would plummet in the south, but strangely all the internet data will point to the pirated video being massively downloaded there, to the chagrin of everyone that doesn't understand the sublte, and sometimes not-so-subtle, place for degradation in good-timey freak sex. Nope, that's the thing no-one wants to talk about, but everyone is hearing. In the bedroom if you want to score points with the misses, you take it up a notch. If you want to score points with billy ray, you take it down a notch. Fact of life, and fucked up if you even know which way is up. Nothing is sacred, everything is permitted, what is profane today is worshiped on altars of decadence tomorrow. It may be one of the creepy jonas brothers that does her in. Or maybe that Beiber kid's stage mother. Somebody will have it out for her. Not that I care who anyone sleeps with or what they do, as long as they all sign consent forms or releases for use of their liknesses for the publicist as the case (and stage of one's entertainment career) may be. Anyway, my cat, this calico, is pure death on wheels. Tiny cat. Small. Kills everything. In the past two days, she has killed and brought to my patio: 2 frogs, 1 mouse, 1 bird (small), and caught a rabbit out in the yard. I heard the rabbit scream a screech of pure pain and terror and went to investigate. I had to pull the cat off of it and let it go. It was a bridge to far, as they say, and I just didn't want to see that much carnage. Not in *my* yard, anyway. Oddly enough, about a week ago, she caught a baby rabbit. She'd been gone all evening and I stepped out to call her. "Chairman Meow! Meow! Here kitty, kitty, kitty!" And I turned to see her lazily get up where she had been obviously laying up against the house. It was a cool night, and she stretched her bones in a regal way that only cats have, and sauntered over to me. It seemed odd, because she has no qualms about making noise to come in. Her appellation is appropo; she meows a lot. So I investigated. Laying between the house and her was a baby rabbit, scared out of its wits and totally unharmed. The crazy bitch was keeping it warm! I can only divine that she had caught it from some other place and it must have triggered her maternal instincts, because she was sleeping with it. I cannot, however, imagine what that baby rabbit must have thought of the whole thing. What would you do if Death caught you by the scruff and wanted to cuddle with you on a chilly spring evening? You'd hold the fuck still, is what you would do. And that's what he did, until I, with gentle nudging, encouraged him to hop along to safety. Fucker probably has no idea how lucky he was. Anyway, she stuck me with a litter of kittens before I got her spayed. But that seems like a story for another time.
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