bunny.jpgThat squeak.

It wasn’t the heater fan going dodgy. It was some poor rodent Damien crippled and brought in the house. Bigger than a mouse, smaller than a rat…more woodland creature than filthy vermin. Black button eyes, shiny with fear. Cute. Disney. Fuck.

Damien apparently did bad things to its spine, then laid it outside the bathroom door, moved six feet across the landing, tucked his paws under himself neatly, and studied the screaming, crippled animal with great delight. I hoped he would seal the deal, but cats are not deal sealers. They’re connoiseurs of small animal pain. I couldn’t stand the sound.

I threw a shop rag over it and picked it up. It jumped and jived and made terrified noises. “Hush up now…you’re okay. I’ve got you.” I said, “I’m going to kill you so’s it doesn’t hurt hardly at all.” The comfort of weasels.

I took it outside and put it on the concrete walkway. Quickest and cleanest would be to crush its head under my heel, but I am barefoot. And a pussy. The skull is definitely the vulnerable part, anyhow, so I smack its head with my flashlight. It goes still. Then it begins to kick vigorously with its back legs. Goddamned stupid rubberized flashlight.

I don’t believe how many times I have to hit it before it stops moving. Surely it was dead long before it was still. How come they never die with their eyes closed?

I hope it rains soon. I’m going to have to go out the back door and face that asterisk of blood every morning until it does. I hated doing that. I like rodents.

Nature sucks.

Reminds me of the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve been loads of things more tragic, more important…but this is one is teh nasty. Let me share it with you.

Baby bunnies. We had a whole litter of baby bunnies. They outgrew the cage we kept them in. Do you know what bunnies do when they’re overcrowded? The go cannibal.

Cannibal bunnies.

I’m going to let you imagine what that looks like.

On a more cheerful note, while I was looking for bunny photos, I ran across this page: bunny suicides!


  1. nbpundit
    Posted December 11, 2006 at 12:30 pm | Permalink

    Ugh. Just what I wanted, seared in
    my brain, cannibalistic bunnies.
    Are they by the way associated with
    the rabid peanut farmer?
    /more brain bleaching procedure

  2. geoff
    Posted December 11, 2006 at 5:41 pm | Permalink

    Feel free to internalize these stories so that your soul is the only one they gnaw at.


  3. Posted December 11, 2006 at 7:24 pm | Permalink

    I guess he is better at stalking without those noisy testicles clanging around behind him.

    Is Damien a family name?

    Have you checked for tattoos, or strange markings of any kind?

  4. Posted December 11, 2006 at 11:30 pm | Permalink

    My cat used to catch mice, then beat them til they were basically bags of goo inside. When they stopped being interesting, he stopped being interested. He wouldn’t eat them, he’d just play with them. I’d come outside and find some pathetic mouse with one working paw trying to drag its self slowly across the porch, Ash watching intently. It was pretty grim.

  5. Posted December 12, 2006 at 5:14 am | Permalink

    He showed up at my back door on 6/6/06, hence Damien. My vet said, “be careful what you wish for.” ‘Bout right.

    There’s got to be some sort of evolutionary reason cats are such sadistic jerks. Maybe so they could show Mistress what they’d done. Still, you’d think they’d eat them afterwards.

    Cat before last ate them. He left me the gallbladders, though. Nothing says “good morning!” like one of those squishy green suckers between your toes.

  6. Posted December 12, 2006 at 10:54 am | Permalink

    I keep a Pellet Gun in the closet by the front door for events like that. Had to use it a few times.

    Concur on the gallbladders.

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