Two Down, Seven To Go
I thought this morning that I saw a dead squirrel in the road, right in front of my driveway. "Good," I thought, "another one bites the dust!"
But it wasn’t a squirrel, it was a young cat. Though ordinarily not very queasy about dead animals because of my past experiences in pest control, I didn’t want to deal with it right then because of an upset stomach. I could turn Your stomach with a professional story or two, but why should I? So, anyway, I waited an hour or more until I felt better, then went out to shovel it up and toss it in the burning barrel. Barbeque kitty—that’s what I did with the last one. But the cat was gone.
The last gooshy dead cat had been in front of my neighbor’s driveway, so it dawned on me that my neighbor might have returned the favor. Mr. B. was working in a flowerbed nearby and I kidded him about it.
"You know, things are in a terrible shape these days," I told him.
"That’s true," he agreed amiably.
"Yeah, it’s getting to where a fella can’t even leave a dead cat laying around for an hour or two without somebody walking off with it!"
Mr. B. grinned, agreed, and offered to give the cat back.
"It’s wrapped up tight like a mummy in a couple of plastic bags over there!" he offered, pointing toward his garbage can.
Needless to say, I hemmed and hawed and agreed that maybe that was, after all, the best place for it.
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