Sometimes, I Write.

My cat killed a mouse last night. I woke up around 3am to the sound of strange, loud meowing, as if he was saying, “Wake up, lady. I caught this weird thing for you.”

I stumbled out of my room, half blind without my glasses on, and found him in the middle of the room with what looked like a toy stuffed in his mouth. The mouse let out a pathetic dying squeak as he was dropped to the floor at my feet. I found it hard to believe that a creature whose main interests are dry cat food and sleeping was able to catch and kill another living creature, and I had no idea what to do next. Should I take the mouse outside, in the hope that he’ll come back to life and have a great story to tell his mouse friends? Should I leave him on the fire escape? Do I just throw him away?

In the end, I put on some rubber gloves, gingerly picked him up by the tail, and deposited him in a plastic bag from the bodega on the corner. I planned on taking him out to the dumpster in the morning, washed my hands, and crawled back into bed. The cat crawled up next to me, triumphant, his mousy breath in my face, and I dreamed of being caught in something’s jaws, the pressure breaking skin and bone.

29th Aug 2011 | 895 notes

Why not? Why not? Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should have put it in the paper, maybe I should have done something different. The thing is, if you just do stuff and nothing happens, what’s it all mean? What’s the point? Oh right, this whole thing is about self acceptance. So I should stop judging and accept? So no matter what I do, hurray for me because I’m a great guy? It’s all good? No matter how many dogs I kill I just - what - do an inventory and accept? I mean you backed your truck over your own kid and you like accept? What a load of crap.

(via conanofallon)