Musings of a High School Vampire: Ways to Kill a Cat

The Cat and me, in the middle of the street in the middle of the night.   I’m standing there in the moonlight, just looking at the little bastard, and the Cat works its shoulders up and down a bit and flexes its claws comfortably, and then sits neatly upright, and curls its tail tidily around its feet.   And looks back.

Now, I know that some woman in a car just ran the Cat over.   I mean – totally ran it over.   I heard the sound.   Bone-crunching, back-breaking, it’s-all-over sound.   Feline fatality sound.   I know that’s what happened.

And the Cat knows I know.   So it sits patiently and waits.   Looking bedraggled and unkempt.   As usual.   And absolutely uninjured.

 

And then a little movie starts playing in my head.   Student short film kind-of-thing – disjointed, but effective.   It went like this.

 

Establishing shot – honored houseguest Py closing door (slightly contemptuously) on snoring homeowner Jonathon, who is sleeping off the party-weekend excesses from the night before.  

Cut to Cat, snarling at perceived intruder from under the dresser.  

Wide shot – Py snorts at pathetic beastie, and bends down to pick it up by the scruff of the neck to toss out the door or throw out the window, depending on his mood.

Close-up on Cat (naturally) with flailing claws and bared teeth.

Cut to close up of pale, outstretched hand of Py.

Cut to Cat sinking teeth viciously and pleasurably into wrist.

Quick violent montage – Py swearing, seizing Cat, wringing its neck so forcibly and bloodily it’s pretty much a beheading, and throwing it outside as planned.   And then curling his lip, and very slowly and coldly, licking his own wound.

Cut to Py later, typing pious lecture to leave for still unconscious Jonathon.   And still glaring at the teeth marks on his hand.

Close-up on postscript: “I killed your cat”.

 

But then there’s my postscript.   See – Py would have said it was a precautionary measure.   Because of the bite, you see.   But I know the Cat must have actually pissed him off, because he fucked up.   Are you hearing this?   Py fucked up.   There he was, going on at me about getting sloppy with kills, and he can’t even dispose of a Cat properly?   The Cat got him angry, and he didn’t do it properly.   Oh man, that long scar around the Cat’s neck – hell, Py didn’t even sever the head cleanly.   Well – obviously he didn’t.   And so the bite…

The bite.

 

Holy shit.

The Cat has waited until I caught up.   And when I had, it flicked its tail a bit and went back inside.   And this time I was the slow one following behind.

 

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Musings of a High School Vampire: Cat II or III

I hear the sound of the car’s impact.

I don’t look right away.   I know what’s happened.   I shut the lid of the bin, and wipe my hands on my jeans, and set my face solidly in the darkness, and turn around resignedly.

Sure enough, under the streetlight there’s a horrified middle-aged lady getting out of her car, hand to her mouth - and a messy rumpled pile of fur in the middle of the road behind the vehicle.   I walk calmly down the path, and she looks up at me wide-eyed and stuttering, one hand on the back of the car for support: “I – I didn’t even see it.   I mean, it was dark – I couldn’t even see it until it was too late – I couldn’t – couldn’t stop.   And the wheel – I felt it go right over – I didn’t see it – it just, it just…”

My voice is cool and soothing.

“Doesn’t matter, lady.   It was only some stray that had been hanging about.   I reckon it was half-dead anyway.   No-one owned it, or anything – it wasn’t like  it was – someone’s pet.   Nah.   You probably put it out of its misery.   No way you could have missed it – stupid little shit clearly ran right out in front of you, pardon the expression.”

There’s only a little audible gravel when I say “stupid little shit”, but she doesn’t hear.

I reassure her I’ll clean it up, and it  wasn’t her fault – could’ve happened to anyone, and shouldn’t she be getting home since it’s so late? and drive safe now - and off she goes.   Driving very carefully away.

And I stand in the moonlight, in the middle of the street, over the fucking dumbass Cat that went and turned itself into ruffled broken roadkill, and is now the cause of me cleaning up two corpses in the one night – and they weren’t even my mess.  

Fuck.   Fuck it.

Nothing but trouble.   Yeah.   Yeah.   Stupid little mother-fucker.   Good riddance.

 

And that’s the fucking dumbass Cat twitches.

And blinks.

And sits up, arching its back creakingly.

And looks at me.

 

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Musings of a High School Vampire: Cat

It’s rare for anything to surprise me.   When you’ve been around as long as I have (which you won’t ever be), there’s not much left that can make the jaw drop or the eyes pop or the Jonathon speechless.

Usually.

The Cat managed it.

So we’re hanging out together last night.   Kane had come over for bad slasher films that we turn into killer comedies by adding live and lewd commentaries.   We’re bloody good at it too.   Plus, these are all the more fun because we should theoretically be studying for some chem test that was today, but Kane couldn’t be fucked learning anything for it and I couldn’t be fucked trying to recollect anything from the last time I took chem. (NB. Kane cheerfully failed the test this morning, and I failed too, to keep him company).

So yeah - bad slasher film.   We’re jeering at this aging peroxide blonde (pretending – badly – that she’s a “teenage camper”) for being too absorbed in getting her tits out to see the lame-ass serial killer behind her, when the Cat comes in.   It’s been sleeping the days under this dresser in the kitchen, I think – well, it gets under there before I leave for school, and it’s still under there when I come home.   Then it perks up in the evening, and stays up with me at nights, or goes out food shopping.   Anyway, last night it comes in with something unidentifiable that was probably once alive, and chews it over under the coffee table.   Kane stretches as the credits roll, observes the Cat’s dinner looks scarier than anything we saw in that last movie, and goes home.

I’m wondering whether I can be bothered getting up off the couch to take a shower, and meanwhile the Cat has finished with its horror show, and is meticulously cleaning blood off its paws and licking its lips.   Dunno why it cares – what with its fucked-over ear and mangy tail and death-eager eyes, it’s always looked like a stunt double from Pet Semetary that’s just been dug up for a couple of takes.   Clean claws are hardly a vast improvement in looks.   But I ain’t going to tell it – we all have our little vanities.

However, the leftovers under the coffee table are equally unpleasant to look at.   I fish whatever it was up with the end of a pencil, and carry it down the hall to the bin outside.

The Cat follows in funeral procession.

So now I’m out the front of the house in the semi-dark, and opening the bin and lobbing the masticated carcass inside, where it makes a wet thud as it hits bottom.   The Cat saunters off.  

And I’m just thinking about whether I need snacks myself tonight, and looking balefully at the full moon that is going to fuck up easy hunting with annoying visibility… when I hear that familiar sound.

 

You know the one.

That white noise of an approaching car out on the road that becomes a screech of brakes, and then that unmistakable dull thump (deja vu) of flesh and bone meeting non-organic material.   Hard.

Oh fuck.

 

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