My Mom Kills Cats

For those of you who have never met my mother, she kills cats. These are not just ordinary cats either! They are housecats who urinate and defecate ...and my mom just can't stand that! HOW DARE THEY?

I remember the first time my mom killed a cat. It was 1989 when we had a cat named Terrance Trent Darby (it had black dread-locked hair, and a terrible meow). This cat climbed up on the curtains when it was only about 7-weeks-old, and my mom swatted it down with a Sears catalog. This was followed by a stare-down contest, with my mom staring the cat down and the cat licking its little calico paws ...looking all cute and shit. My mom claimed victory then belowed, "JIM! (my father) TAKE THIS CAT TO THE VET!" The next day, mom said Terrance Trent Darby was taken out to a nearby farm because it was sick ("It" later "died" by eating some kind of "farm poison," according to my mother who "knew the farmer", whom I later found out to be a fake farmer name, "Sikkhem Vickram." I should have known.)

The second time my mom killed a housecat was in 1993, and it was mainly because she hadn't done it in 4-years.

The third time my mom killed a cat came down to another stare-down contest and my dad visiting the vet for $110 and plastic bag. Ole Peanut Buster Parfait did something really stupid, and that was taking a dirt in a corner of the house. Hours later when mom came home from work, the cat took a full and unopened box of Nutter Butters to the face while it was sleeping. She asked PBP, "Did you do this?" The cat must have said something sarcastic like, "Well it isn't big enough to be yours," so it was doomed. Sure, it was the third time she had a cat killed, but I was used to it by now. However, it was the first time I knew what happened after the cat was actually killed that will haunt my grandpa forever. More on that later.

After the cat was killed, my dad would take it out to my grandparents woods, dig a hole, and bury it. For cat #3, I was asked to help. That is when I knew what was going on, and how I would have to lie to the FBI if they ever came looking for my mother. It was a bonified pet cemetary at my grandparents woods. My dad gave me a shovel and went in the house. I dug until something popped out of the ground and screamed at me. It was my grandmother telling me I wasn't digging right. She then went into the house too. That may or may not have happened, regarding my grandmother, but if you knew her at all ...you will just never know if it were true or not. It didn't take me long to dig the hole, but it took me a few moments to get over a cement hard calico with its face bugging out in the middle of a CLEAR plastic bag. You make a nice product Ziploc, but your guaranteed seal was obviously never tested on a dead cat. Peanut Buster Parfait fell out of the bag a few times, but I figured it wouldn't make a difference so I just buried the cat naked and gave the Ziploc back to my mom for reuse.

But now I knew what was going on.

From there on out, I knew how to hide Fluffy's pee on the kitchen floor, or Tiny's doodoo in the kitchen sink. If mother were to find out, it would mean I would have to use a shovel, or have to lie to the neighbors about my mom being a cold blooded cat murderer. A murderer who found delight in caging the animals and spraying it with roach killer. Sometimes she would even drug the cats for experiment. And she was onto something too. She once made a mixture of chemicals that gave one of our cats two sets of lungs! Can you imagine the medical marvel of a cat with two sets of lungs?? Why it could take the deepest breath you have ever watched a cat take. BUT... that cat met its maker (needle from Dr. Tom) after my mom caught it begging for food one morning.

All this is fine and dandy. It has been going on for years and everyone got used to it, but what bothers me is how it affects my grandpa. Imagine what happens when 20+ cats are all buried on top of each other in the middle of the woods? Keep in mind, these are woods that were once the stomping grounds of Native Americans in Northwest Ohio. So when a scalped cat shows up in grandpa's dreams at night, you can only imagine how frightened he becomes! MEOW! He complains all the time about how he gets no sleep. Peanut Buster Parfait comes to him in the night with a little cat tuxedo on and a scalped head offering him a smoke. PBP's favorite joke to tell grandpa in his dreams is "Can you imagine how much I could smoke with a double set of lungs?" My grandpa does NOT think it is funny.

My mom kills cats.