Wendy and a Dead Cat

My friend Wendy just left a few minutes ago (10 p.m.)with her three little ones (Ty- 6, Jaden-4, and Kate-2 1/2). There is no school tomorrow so we let the kids rock and go wild, which is exactly what they did. Reilly doesn't know what to do when there are boys around, so he runs wild, tackles whenever possible, plays PS2 till his hearts content, and makes all sorts of boy noises, which are all really loud and some are not exactly polite. But they're just boys.

Wendy and I have a unique relationship. Whenever we get together, we act like we are still in college. We laugh at really stupid things, try to embarrass each other when anyone else is in the room, eat like we did when we never gained weight, and don't use very good judgment in general. I guess that adequately sets up the incident that occurred the other day.

So our cat died the other day. Yah, I know I sound matter of fact and heartless, but the cat burned lots of bridges and blew opportunities to be cuddled and loved like some other cats. He used to be pretty normal, until his first encounter with children, and he has never been normal since. We described him as schizophrenic and he really was crazy. The kids would sometimes try to go in the garage to see him (he lived in the garage- he was afraid to go anywhere else) and would come running in the house screaming because he was so abnormal and skittish. Anyway Knick died in a really relaxed position, which was comforting to me. I had grown rather detached from the cat, but didn't wish him any harm. So I was glad that he didn't look like he was struggling or uncomfortable. He looked like he was just resting.

Wendy came over the day Knick went the way of all flesh. Wendy is one of the funnest and funniest people I know. She got pranked more than anyone I know when we were in college because she is super dramatic about certain things (Live chickens and crickets in the middle of the night in her dorm room topped the list of pranks-that's a great story). When I told her that we had a dead cat in the garage, she flipped out. So naturally, I begged her to come in and check him out. She fought me (even though I knew she wanted to see him) and I had to pretend to force her to come see him. So she slowly walks into the garage with the "ewe disgusting" expression on her face, looking as if he might jump out at her, and followed me to the corner where the peaceful cat lay, eyes wide open. Immediately her dramatic side kicks in, and she spouts out all kinds of "I can't believe you", "That's so disgusting", "why did you make me look at him", etc. Then she says,

"How do you know he's dead? He looks alive!"

I couldn't resist the urge. You know you would do the same thing. At least if you knew Wendy, you would. It was a perfect opportunity. So, I picked up the closest ball (a volleyball) and gave it a little overhand throw, which hit Knick right in the stomach and just kind of stopped there. You can imagine her reaction. I got a hilarious tongue lashing with all sorts of name-calling.

Was it worth it? Of course it was. I didn't hurt the cat after all- he was already dead. And her reaction was just as dramatic as expected. I think she's told everyone she knows.