Shock Horror Cat Funeral

Today I and my roomie, along with a mutual friend from UK whos is boarding with us, went down to the railroad tracks to recover the formerly frozen body of a Great Manx that had died exactly two weeks ago, when the first great blizzard of 2005 hit New York City.

She had thrown what I sincerely hope was merely his spent vessel over the fence, into a thick snow drift that covered the steep bank leading down to the freight and passenger rails. I had not been home when he peacefully passed away, and she had seen to disposing of his body before I was able to get home. (She had rung me up with the news, and I had immediately taken my leave to make may home through the horizontal blast of ice and snow.)

As I was the only one with boots as well as the will to retrieve the olde boy's body, I alone ascended the thorn-covered and somewhat muddy hill. Upon reaching the blue bags in which he eternally rested, I was stunned to observe that he was head up, his front claws curled round the small tree that had only barely arrested his (hopefully posthumous) descent. The bag was in such a way that he could not have escaped were he still alive then, as the opening was at his stomach. Had he attempted to exit, he would have had to let go the tiny tree trunk and continued sliding down a snow covered hillside, blindly.

I only hope that it was a bizarre coincidence and had naught to do with the fact that my roomie was not so goddamned drunk and high as to have made a horrible mistake. I wish she would have fucking awaited my arrival.

I can write no more for now. I am breaking my vow to not get drunk, and hope I do not awaken covered in blood after having made my own fatal mistake...