I just remembered something disgusting, and morally corrupt, I once did with a dead cat. Before we go any further I just want to point out it was nothing sexy. I didn’t get sexy with a dead cat, so stop that thought right now.
It was years and years and years ago. I think I was about 18, so 8 years ago. A friend of a friend was down from London, Martin his name was. He was a hell of a good laugh. He’s dead now, bless him. But anyway, he came to Llanelli for a visit this one time and I remember it was the night before he left. It was during the summer so the days were long and warm, and we decided something epic needed to be done for his last night in South Wales, so some hasty and intoxicated brainstorming commenced. I remembered something that was by the side of the road in the middle of town. something that had been there for a week in the scorching heat. It was a dead cat. This was also about the time I was going through a pretty big Tom Green and Jackass phase so naturally I decided it was that dead cats time to shine, so we got in my mates car and went to get it.
It was pretty disgusting. I can almost see it’s gooey, rotting face laying lifeless on the hot tarmac now. I wanted to pick it up but I didn’t really want to use my bear hands so I found a carrier bag and picked it up by it’s rotting tail and went back to the car. There was an acquaintance living not to far from where we were and his mother was German so we naturally assume “Nazi” and thought it would be a hoot to leave this cat on their door-step. I was sat in the front of the car holding this dead cat by the tail hanging it out the window on the way to the victims home when suddenly the tail just sort of fell off. I don’t know how to explain it. It was horrific. It kinda slid off the bone and then the bone fell off. Not nice. I wanted to leave it at that and cut our loses, but my friends were adamant we stick to the plan. We went back for it and I was holding it by this little stump it had left. It was so horrible. I’m being sick into my mouth a bit thinking about it. anyway, we got to the house and the plan was to throw it at the door and speed off, so they’d hear a bang, go see what it was and find a dead cat. “That’ll show her for possibly being a Nazi” we reasoned with ourselves.
I got out of the car, and held the cat in my hand while stood at the foot of their garden path. I swung it around and around to get enough momentum to ensure a decent knock on the door and released. It soared through the air in the most glorious of fashions, like Elton John in the 80’s, and it connected with the door.
But the door didn’t bang.
It turned out the door was ajar and not locked shut like we had assumed. The cat hit it, the door flung open, the cat continued to soar in that glorious fashion, entered the house, hit the ceiling of their passage way and landed on the stairs.
So we fucking run. Or drove, even. I think maybe they drove and left me and I had to run. I can’t be 100% sure. All I am sure of is that I am not proud of my actions, but it did get a laugh.
And you can’t argue with results.