ignoring my kids researching for my blog and ended up on one of my most favorite ‘what the hell?!’ websites, Craftastrophe. If you haven’t been to this site, you soooo must put them in your reader. Seriously, it is like one of those daily calendars that you giggle at every single morning and then when you totally forget to read for a few days, it’s like a little personal vacation.
On their site, I came across this, and it not only made me laugh out loud, but it reminded me of my own ‘dead kitty’ story that has been an all-time favorite for many of my friends. I figured I should share it with all of you since I probably won’t be sharing it over a bottle of wine with you any time soon! (Pity, really. I think it’s much funnier then.)
Back in Tennessee, we had a German Shepherd who was absolutely nuts. In cat-like form she would play with small animals such as chipmunks, mice, etc until they literally dropped over dead. She never intentionally killed them, but more like Lennie, she would love them to death.
One afternoon, Bonus came running in the house yelling about a ‘dead kitty’ in the yard. Praying it was actually a squirrel, I ran out the back door to find Kintla snuggling with her latest victim. A small cat who had obviously, been loved to death.
Following the good-parenting protocol that I always do, I
screamed bloody murder and chased the dog through the yard with a shovel trying to get the cat away from her got my precious, vulnerable child in the house before attempting to handle the situation.
It took half an hour and an entire roasted chicken to pry the lifeless, matted fur ball from her jaws. Once I did, I stood there holding a shovel full of dead cat and no idea what to do next; when I heard a tiny little voice, “Momma, is that a dead kitty?”
“Yes, son. It’s a dead kitty.”
“Momma, what you gonna do wif dat dead kitty?”
“I don’t know, Bonus. I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
“I bet dead kitty would wike wiving here.”
This is the point I realized that instead of completely scarring my child for life, I had the opportunity to teach him a valuable lesson about life and death.
Instead, I played along.
“Yeah buddy! Dead kitty would be fine with us! Let’s go find him a home in the woods!”
“O-tay momma! Yay!”
So we walked to the back yard with dead kitty in-tow. We made it to the edge of the property where it was nice and wooded. The ground was much too hard to dig in, so I decided just tossing it over the fence would be much more fitting.
Taking all the strength I could muster with the increasingly-heavy lump in the shovel, I reared back and launched the dead kitty far into the woods.
But dead kitty hit the tree right in front of us and hung on the top branch. Thanks to rigor mortis, dead kitty looked like he was running in the air.
“Momma, is dead kitty flying?”
“Um, yes son. Dead kitties love to fly.” (shitshitshitshit)
“Momma, I don’t tink we can weave him dere.”
“No, son. We can’t.” (what the hell am I going to do?!)
Beating the tree limb with the shovel, I finally got dead kitty to ‘land’. Scooping him up once again, we trekked around the property to find a nice, cushy pile of leaves that was way back in the woods for dead kitty to ‘sleep comfortably’ (and not smell up the entire back yard).
We covered dead kitty with a blanket of leaves and headed back home.
Obviously proud, Bonus piped up, “Momma, dead kitty will WOVE wiving back here!”
“Yes, son. Dead kitties always love living in the woods.”