May 8, 2011 by wcobserver
By Danele Pitts Campbell
The rat was still alive, as were virtually all of Bitten’s gift, because as I’ve mentioned any good cat knows it isn’t hygienic to eat dead things. She had a death grip on its throat, no doubt the careful result of several hours of cat and rat maneuvers. With the nightstand light shining on its bulging black eyes, her growling increased in muffled intensity, her way of emphasizing the extreme high quality of this particular offering.
Of course I reacted unreasonably, wanting nothing to do with a large rat in my bed at two am. It was one of those spring out of bed and turn on all the lights nights, complete with a few choice utterances of my own. She got the message immediately, probably crushed with the disappointment of failing to please such a difficult master. She leapt off the bed carrying the rat and paused at the side of the bed. Then—in order to salvage the best possible result from a deteriorating situation—she proceeded to crush its skull with her amazing feline jaws, a crunch of magnificent amplitude. By now all the other cats and dogs were quite curious and trying to get a sniff of the prize. Between her crunches, the growls became so emphatic and so melodious that I feared she would choke to death, which would of course further complicate the night with me having to perform a Heimlich maneuver on a rat-stuffed cat. So I walked around to the far side of the bed and picked up the now-decapitated rat by the tip of its tail and lay its approximately two pound body on the dresser. Then I picked up all fifteen pounds of Bitten and placed her beside the rat, where she began contentedly chewing her way through the rest of the fleshy morsel safe from the intrusions of any other animals.
I found it somewhat difficult to return to sleep, but eventually the munching and crunching faded into the back of my consciousness as my night’s slumber returned. I had a busy schedule the next day and sleep was required. Upon arising the next morning, I checked the area of the dresser, wondering whether there would be legs or intestines or other debris of her feast. Remarkably, not that I was surprised, there was not a trace. All I found was the rat’s anal area, complete with tail, lying on the floor in front of the dresser. It was a useful instruction—one of so many she had to offer in her time with me—as to the immeasurably low value of something for which you wouldn’t give even a rat’s ass. (The end)
Denele Pitts Campbell is a writer, restauranteur, and businesswoman. She lives in the Mineral Springs community near West Fork.