I Am a Stone Cold Killer

Don't get too excited. Not of actual people.

Christ. I'd be up before the Hague.

But of suburban-dwelling animals.

I have felled more of those fuckers than I care to admit, and never once actually made the effort.. It just happened. On my KillBoard are one badger, one cat and four of our feathered friends.

I didn't even try. There they were, dead. In very close proximity to me. Perhaps it was not me. But no. The statistics speak for themselves.

Number of corpses of suburban-dwelling creatures I have had to dispose of before becoming a father: 0.

Number of corpses of suburban-dwelling creatures I have had to dispose of SINCE becoming a father: 6.

You CANNOT argue with numbers like that. Have children=death around you. It's like a non-Disney circle of life.

The cat was not the best. The birds=bin. They are small. They fit on shovels. Badger=not my problem. There is a special LAW ABOUT BADGERS. Some MEN came and sorted it. Looked at me a bit suspicious like. They have nothing on me. I front it.

But the cat.

Saturday morning. I leave the house to buy eggs and quality newspaper. I enjoy the fact that I insist upon a breakfast of dippy-eggs-and-soldiers whilst reading a not-very-good broadsheet newspaper.

I am stopped in my tracks. It appears to be a very pleasant cat. Bit cheeky, mind. Just kipping on my front lawn like he owned it.. With his eyes open. Staring at some spot well beyond the front wall of my house. Who is in fact dead. And not very cheeky at all.

I continue to buy my breakfast provisions (I am a man of routine) and think some more about this.

Whilst the cat (a very BIG cat I might add) has obviously done this to annoy me, the point at which he could have enjoyed the results of this prank have long since been and gone.

I do what any other brave man would do.

I take myself, Tired Mam and toddler Favourite Daughter out for the day. And most of the evening.

Upon our return at the dead of night, against all expectations, the cat is still there. And is still dead.

I had convinced myself that it would have got better and gone away.

We get FD to bed and consider the situation.

I discovered it on Saturday morning. It was not there quite late Friday night. It is now Saturday evening.

The 24-hour-this-is-now-no-longer-a-dead-animal-but-is-in-fact-an-epidemic-of-maggots-and-other-stuff-that-will-cause-a-dead-animal-to-move-like-it-was-alive moment is not far off.

It is Saturday night. It is dark. Whilst I ready myself with gloves and bin-liners, I thinks of all the fun things I have done in the dark of a Saturday night. On occassion a lady has been involved.

Rigour Mortis. Just words, until you have to deal with it. The fucker might as well been made out of clay. I snap his tail to get the thing into the bin liner.

A fifteen-minute walk to the canal.

*BANG* I forget for a second what I have in the bag.

*Bang* IT keeps clunking upon my leg. Every time I relax my grip, the bin-liner bangs my legs reminding me of its cargo It is a long walk.

Heave-ho.

I get home. Naked as soon as. Clothes into machine. Bath.

Congrats at huge manly dealing-with capabilities non-forthcoming as my Dr.Crippin-style body disposal has taken place at the dead of night. Everyone is asleep.

Some sleep. Not much. Usual.

Monday.

Work. How was your weekend Tired?

I'll tell you.

Gareth: No! Why didn't you call the RSPCA of something?

Me: What?

Gareth: They do that sort of thing.

Me: Do you think the Royal Society of the Prevention of Cruelty of Animals would have prevented actual DEATH and ACTUALLY turned back time like Doc off of Back to the Future?

Gareth: You could have at least tried.

I am lost for words.

I get on with my job. Late that same afternoon, I recieve a call from Tired Mam.

TM: Erm. A little boy- he couldn't even be ten - has just walked up our garden and posted a flyer through our door -

Me: Oh no

TM: 'I love my little Mickey. I want him back so. Has anyone seen him??' That is what it says. Contact numbers and that.

Me: [Fronting it] Well tell him, 'mystery fucking over! I know exactly where he is! Because I hoyed him into the bottom of the canal last night!'

TM: [Silence]

Me: Right [Suddendley realising I may still have some sort of upper-hand because I am AT WORK] I'll talk to you later.

I hang up. I think for a bit.

Sales Director comes in. He hears the story. It is a favourite of the day.

Sales Director: Your are a sick heartless fuck Tired.

That is a lot coming from him.

I get home. I kiss my daughter.

And then I make the PHONE CALL.

I have the number. And I have several years of watching E.R. I know how to break bad news.

RING

Unkown Woman: Hello?

Me:[Sombre tone] Hi. It's about Mickey [Notice I do not say the 'cat']. I'm afraid it is not good news. [See what I've done? Dashed hopes from second one but still being a gentleman.]

Me: He was found [do you see? not I found him or We found him but 'he was found'] not far from our front door. Obviously, we have a toddler so we had to make arrangements. I am so dreadfully sorry.

UW: Goodness. I am so glad you called, that is all. Any evidence of obvious injury?

Me: If there were I would be fucking telling....erm no. Odd thing, actually. Looked like Mickey had found himself a good patch and just caught himself some sleep. I'm so sorry.

UW: Well, at least we know. What did you do? Did you get the council out?

Me: Erm. Yes. That is what I did.