Sunday, July 31, 2011

The Greensboro Years:
Friends Witness a Cat Eating a Squirrel

This wasn't the cat in this story.

This is a story about my friends at my house who witnessed a cat dining on fresh squirrel.


I had two sets of friends growing up. One was the friends I grew up with in the south part of Greensboro. The other was my swim team friends who were from the north part of Greensboro. These friends were quite different to say the least. Also, these groups of friends did not mix.

I rarely had my swim team friends over at my house. I lived 5 or more miles from them and it was out of their way. Once in a while, they would come over. I rarely talked about the demographic make-up in my neighborhood. It was over 80% black. On our street, there was only one white family: ours. I’ve been in a car with my swim team friends and caught them staring at neighbors and processing the information of what they were seeing. I knew what they were thinking. They didn’t have to say anything. They were uncomfortable. I’m sure in each and every one of their heads they thought of Chevy Chase’s line in Vacation when the family was in East St. Louis: “Roll ‘em up!”

I also didn’t want people over because of my dad’s habit of walking around the house only in his fruit of the looms. My parents also didn’t like having guests over. So, I don’t have many stories of my friends interacting with my family or my pets.

Back to the Story

It was a late afternoon when a group of my swim team friends came over. There were about 3 or 4 of them. My family still had a handful of cats but not near the peak from 10 years before that when we had around 40 cats. We were about to go inside when we caught sight of a cat dining on a freshly killed squirrel. I knew this was going to make my friends queasy. By this time in my life, I became desensitized to such predator-prey scenes. 

But I knew some friends would be repulsed by this. It reminded me of a scene similar to this but when I was 8. A cat had caught a rabbit and was feasting on it. I expressed my pride in the cat’s hunting prowess. A neighbor gave me an ugly look and said “How would you like it if a great big lion attacked you? You wouldn’t like it then, would you?”

I wish to hell I knew about the word “non sequitur” then because the girl’s comparison was idiotic. At the tender age of 8, I had been exposed to my first experience with a candy-ass animal rights activist. I didn’t answer back and it was probably for the best. Animal rights activists and others on her side of the political spectrum can become unhinged when confronted on matters central to their beliefs. I kept quiet and kept watching the cat eat the rabbit.

So, here we were passing by the cat as he ate fresh squirrel meat. I was not prepared for what happened next. He looked up at us and had so much blood on his chin that it looked like a goatee: a blood goatee! My friends were absolutely repulsed. I can still hear them go “ewwwwww!” Admittedly, it was pretty damn nasty. Unlike them and being the jackass I was, I started laughing! The cat looked like it had emerged from the depths of hell with its satanic expression. I wish I had taken a picture of that one.

I wonder if any of those friends remember that incident.

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