BIRDS POSSUMS AND CATS OH MY

Flap flap.

Thud thud.

That was the sound I awoke to at 5am on sunday morning as Pete the cat had a bird half dead and flapping around on the floor IN MY BEDROOM.

I am not good with birds, especially half dying stunned little grey ones on my floor. There was Pete, just happy as could be- “look mom I brought you a present!” Little fucker. The bird was so not dead yet, but quickly on his way…

‘Tate…. Uhhhh, mmmm, aaahhhh, eeee honey wake up, get the bird, get the bird out… help honey”

Now imagine this spoken by barry white: (becasue for some unknow reason that's how Tate sounds when he is still half asleep)

“Go back to sleep baby, don’t worry about it, Good boy petey, get him...”

That was his answer. Fucker. Meanwhile the bird is like, seizing about a foot away from my head. Finally Sally and I had had enough. So we shut the bed room door with Pete Tate and the bird inside, and she and I slept our morning out on the couch. And when I returned to the scene of the crime a few hours later there were feathers everywhere, a small bloody carcass at the foot of the bed and two soundly sleeping jackasses.

***

That same evening I watched Joey, my parents Jack Russell attack and kill a possum in their backyard. Didn’t really take long, that little dog kicked some serious possum ass. He didn’t stand a chance. Couldn’t tell if he killed him or if was he just playing possum, either way he wound up shoveled into a neighbors yard thru the alley.

It was a gruesome day for the “domestic” animals over here in Santa Monica.

Yuck.

It was the kind of day that makes your ankles feel vulnerable. I hate that.