In light of Halloween it's only appropriate that I tell you all a horror story. A little bloodshed. A little murder. And townies...crunchy, need-a-job townies. Mind you this is all true - I couldn't make this up if I tried.
My story begins as I'm driving a bunch of my teammates up to the weight room for practice. To set the mood - 5 manorexic bros are listening to the aural money shot that is Kelly Clarkson's "Since You've Been Gone". Little did I know I was about to become PETA's most wanted felon.
So we're cruising along, choking back the desire to belt out the lyrics that we all knew forwards and backwards, when out of nowhere some hellspawn of a cat jaunts in front of my car. Scratch that, moseys in front of my car - because that's what cats do...they walk around like its shit doesn't stink. NEWSFLASH - cat shit does stink...it's poop what did you expect? Even worse is that cat owners are crazy enough to think an indoor box full of gravel will eliminate odors and make it acceptable to stockpile feces in one's home.
Anyway, back to the feline terrorist. On went his bomb-vest as he positioned himself in front of my left tire and embraced his martyrdom (for the record I don't think cats qualify for the 72 virgins so I really couldn't tell you what was motivating this little bastard except maybe the fact that a cat's primary source of sustenance is human misery).
Double thump - I clip this guy twice with my car...yeah I felt bad but come on it's a cat. They get hit by cars sometimes. Life goes on (except for the cats obviously). For a split second I considered stopping but then, with the resounding support of my teammates, I decided to move on. What was I supposed to do? Hillary Duff was up next on the playlist and I couldn't kill the mood, right?
As I pull away I glance through my rear-view mirror to give the guy a farewell apology but to my horror the thing was dragging its head along the ground to the side of the road. That industrious little fucker had the nerve to get the last word in by showing me I'd broken his neck. Great, now I feel BAD about it (mind you by the end of this entire debacle I wished I could have hit him with all four wheels at once...)
So I pull away and decide to move on with my life. 30 seconds later some guy is honking his horn, practically rear-ending me and flashing his lights. Fuck, I totally just ran over this guy's cat...in front of him...and drove away. I pull over and wait for the impending shit storm. He pulls along side me and I roll down my window.
Distraught Ithacan: "What the hell are you doing?!?!"
Me: "I'm so sorry - was that your cat?"
Crazy Hippie: "No...BUT YOU DON'T JUST HIT A CAT AND DRIVE AWAY!!!"
At this point I'm wondering two things to myself:
1) I don't know if you noticed, Captain Planet, but that's PRECISELY what I did just now...
2) Who the hell made this asshole King of the Townies? If it's not your cat, feel bad like I did and fuck off.
By now the remorse over the cat's death has been replaced by my resentment for this guy who decided to take it upon himself to write down my license plate number and speed back to the "scene of the crime".
Onwards! We finally all get to practice and everyone disperses. At this point I'm actually kind of concerned what Corporal Carebear was going to do with my car's information so I asked my coach what I should do.
Coach: "Was it dead after you hit it?"
Me: "No"
Paul Bunyan (Coach): "First of all, you should have backed up and driven over it again to put it out of it's misery. Second, just call the cops to let them know you hit the cat I'm sure they'll take care of it."
Let's take a minute to appreciate how absurd the first comment was. But then again, coming from a guy who is rumored to have wrestled a deer to the ground with his bare hands...in his sleep...I guess I'm not THAT surprised.
So I call the police and let them know I have blood on my hands and I am met with the response that "I need to return to the scene of the crime immediately to give the officer on site my side of the story." (I wasn't joking when I called it a crime scene earlier...)
By the time I return to ground zero I swear it was something straight out of an episode of CSI: Kitty Killers. There's a crowd on either side of the street staring at me like I was birthed by Ann Coulter and Ted Bundy. The officer on the scene comes up and takes my side of the story. I explain that I couldn't swerve to dodge the cat OR slam on my brakes because there was a car behind me (driven by the aforementioned King of the Townies) and a car coming towards me on the other side of the road and that I valued the lives of my 5 HUMAN passengers over the life of Whiskers.
Out of nowhere the male owner of this cat comes up to me and starts tearing into me about how I'm a morally deprived and pathetic human being. Whatever, bro - the more you guys push my buttons the less badly I'm going to feel about steamrolling your kitty. Then this guy makes a fatal error - he asks me if I've ever lost a pet. Checkmate, clown. My dog died on Christmas Eve - have fun trying to compare the fact that you neglect your cat to my family having its holiday ruined by losing the greatest dog ever. The only thing he had left in his arsenal was "...well good, I just wanted to make sure you knew what it felt like". Burn.
At this point I'm beyond miffed at these people so I just get back in my car. Minutes later the female cat owner approached my car with a cardboard box containing a lump of fur. She might as well have dumped the thing on my hood she came so close with it. "Look at what you did, you murderer!". Someone call the Academy because this lady deserves an Oscar. I GET IT. I hit your cat - I was there when it happened, remember?
Long story short (except it's not short because this is my longest post to date) the cop tells me this could result in four points on my license, a license suspension and a court summons. Are. You. Serious. It's a cat. An animal so wretched that it parades around your home vomiting up clumps of hair as it refuses to play with you yet I'm practically being asked to pack my bags for Guantanamo.
New York is the only state I know of where hitting a cat and not notifying the police is a crime. Period. Let alone a crime that can strip you of your license!
Fuck cats.
P.S. I came out of this with nothing more than a $100 dollar fine after explaining to the judge what happened - suck on that, townies.
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