The Truth About Cats And Frogs
06 October 2010
Another decapitated frog left at the back door, the second in a week. The Feline Mafia are making a stand. This isn't just the random act of a vicious killer. Occasionally one finds a dead frog on the grass, the poor deceased amphibian obviously having strayed too far from the pond in the middle of the night and having bumped into a wandering feline predatory bastard. There's something natural about that however, the vicious world of the back garden unfolding as nature intended. But this, this bestial act, this sinister beheading of a bug-eating innocent abroad, this speaks of a greater and much deeper evil. The cats are mobilising and they mean to be heard.
Earlier in the summer there were a few decapitated birds left out in the back field. No sign of the head, just a lifeless body and a few feathers scatted in the general vicinity. It seemed odd, but at the time I put it down to the drunken antics of the humanoids who inhabit the field when the sun shines. They shout, they get pissed, they smoke drugs, they have sex, they snarl at passing old women, they break up park benches, and they know the police couldn't care less; why wouldn't they decapitate the odd bird?
However, your frog is much more of a night time creature than your bird. Birds just fly around all day, quite happily picking at worms and seeds and leftover fish and chip wrappers, fairly safe in the thought that they're unlikely to be beheaded. They're easy prey. Frogs, though, come out at night, blending into the darkness. Ask a drunk man to catch a frog in the dark and you'd be as well asking him to walk a hundred yards to pee in a toilet rather than against the nearest wall.
Cats on the other hand are evil incarnate, voracious and vulturine little bastards who are designed to catch and behead other lifeforms in the middle of the night. Unlike the dead birds in the back field, these decapitated frogs are clearly the work of the Cats; and now one can see, that more than likely, so were the decapitated birds.
So, where does this leave us? The cats are making a stand. They're saying, this isn't your back garden, this is our back garden. The cats are claiming ownership and putting down a marker; they are proclaiming the back garden an Independent Feral Republic. It's at times like these that one must either stand or fall. Either we do something, or else it will be our headless bodies left lying at the back door.
We must be bold and must not falter. It is time to cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war...