- Mood:
Sadness - Watching: Fat Albert
Well, it's floodin' down in Texas.
All the telephone lines are down.
I've been trying to call my baby,
But I can't get a single sound.
I just though I'd make it more widely known the irony of a cat named Dodger being hit and killed.
Well, and the tragedy of it. Of course.
When I got Dodger in grade 10, he was a fatass brat who would bite anyone who touched him. I wasn't sure what I thought about him then, but Rascal knew. They clicked right away... if ya know what I mean. I never actually had a gay cat before, I didn't think, but Dodger and Rascal were in love. Anyway, Rascal died about six months ago... and, well I guess they're together again now.
But, I mean, as the years went by, Dodger really grew on us. He became less bratty 'cause we never ever spoiled him, just treated him like the rest of the cats. So, every night he slept at he foot of my bed, and every morning he would go into my mom's room and bug her 'till she woke up and fed him. Okay, so that des sound kinda spoiled and bratty, but whatever. He was a damned majestic being. He weighed about fifteen pounds, was the fluffiest thing I'd ever met, and he was basically just a big ol' marshmallow.
But I guess he just wasn't pink and fluffy enough, so when he got hit on the road, he just... gave in. He was still majestic in death, I think. He wouldn't have it any other way.
Rest In Peace, Diggity Dodger.