The Cat

Hey again,

I know it’s been a while.  Things have been buck-nutty here and I just haven’t been able to post recently.  But worry not.  I’m taking a course on writing creative nonfiction and just finished with my first assignment.  I figure that over the course of the semester I’ll post anything I think is half decent.



The Cat

My family moved in on a Monday in August, but the cat had been waiting in the yard for at least a week.  Racing down the pebbled steps leading to the front door, my brother and I were the first to smell it.  The stench was sour and foul like nothing either of us had ever smelled before.  It carried on the slow arid breeze, making the hot summer air seem heavy in our noses.  Making sour faces at each other, we ventured around the bushes and into the backyard from where it came.

We found the cat there where it lay on the yellow grass, dead and covered with bugs.  All kinds of bugs.  I saw flies and ants, but my brother still swears he saw a millipede crawl out of the cat’s open gut.  The flies buzzed about frantically, each one taking off and landing a million times as it searched for the best resting place among the animal’s mangled black and white fur, which, caked with dirt, stuck back against its lifeless body.  We ran away and into the house.

I did not dare to go back there again until the next afternoon when the horrible smell grew stronger.  The cat could not stay.  I quickly grabbed two plastic supermarket bags and dashed out of the front door and straight towards the rotting cat.  Even while holding my breath, I could feel the dead cat in the thick August heat and on my skin.  I knew what had to be done.  It was not long before the cat, double bagged, sat at the bottom of the dumpster at the end of the block and I stood in the shower, still thinking about flies and mangled dirt-caked hair.



Filed under Creative Nonfiction

4 responses to “The Cat

  1. Avi

    As I mentioned in private, this is a really nice piece.

    I really like your decision to leave out the details of transferring the cat from the yard to the dumpster; I think it (rightfully) maintains the focus of the story on the cat itself and your reaction to it.

    Why did you choose to do that? If you would be so kind, I’d love you hear your thoughts and, dare I say, your comments.

  2. tokedawg


    It’s not so deep. It just smelled really really bad. Downright nasty.

    Also, I figured I could do a decent job with that story in a few paragraphs.

  3. shua

    That was really, really gross.

  4. When you say “sat at the bottom of the dumpster,” do you mean “sat at the bottom of your stomach?”

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