Thursday, March 23, 2006

A dead cat in a bag

It's hard to flirt effectively while holding a dead cat in a bag. I've tried.

I was in my second year at Queen's University that fall, living in a house that was just a block off campus. As all but the very most attractive of us all do at some point or another, I found myself waiting by the phone one night for a offhandedly promised call that wasn't going to come. Eventually midnight rolled around and I gave up and got out of the house for a walk because I was pissed off, a little with the girl, but mostly with myself. I wandered around campus for a while, down by the lake, and eventually back to my house.

Right in front of my house, I saw a cab stopped in the street and two girls blubbering hysterically over a kitten that it had hit and killed. I was the perfect guy to step up in this kind of situation: I was already in such a foul mood that it couldn't get any worse. I looked at the kitten, muttered that I'd get a bag, and went inside. I came out with a green garbage bag and picked up the kitten. Its bowels released and emptied themselves in a stream onto the asphalt. I put it in the bag, tied the handles off, and tried to figure out what the hell you do with a dead cat in a bag.

I didn't want to throw it in our kitchen garbage can, obviously, so I headed back to campus, figuring I could toss it in the dumpster I remembered being beside Victoria Hall, my old student residence. When I got to Vic Hall, there was a police cruiser parked outside for some reason. I wondered if there was anything illegal about throwing a dead cat in a dumpster. Dumping a body seems like shady business in general. So I headed in to ask the police officer in the lobby.

It's apparently perfectly legal to throw a dead cat in a dumpster, although I hope this won't prove useful information to you. The cop was naturally curious to know why I had one, though. And so, for that matter, was the cute girl behind the counter at reception. So that's how I found myself in the lobby of my former university residence making small talk with a cute girl while holding a dead cat in a bag and having a sudden odd realization that this was one of life's strange little moments. As I said, it's just not a good flirting situation, so I just headed back outside, tossed the kitten in the dumpster, and went home, trying not to look at the spot on the road where it had been hit as I went inside.


Anonymous Nick Iannitti said...

I think that's almost touching enought to qualify for "Chicken Soup for the Soul".

Just add one or two more sentences about you looking at the bloodied spot, pondering the futility of life, and you're gold!

3/23/2006 04:44:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I'm not sure which title would have worked better: "Dead Cat for Cutie" or an unchanged "Death Cab for Cutie".

3/24/2006 08:39:00 AM  
Blogger TinaPoPo said...

Were the two blubbering girls not cute? Because I'd think you came in like a hero there, took the cat, disposed of its remains. That's got to be worth something. At least 2nd base, right?

3/24/2006 09:11:00 AM  
Anonymous Elizabeth said...

or "Death Cab for Kitty".

3/24/2006 09:45:00 AM  
Blogger Peter Lynn said...

Damn, those are good titles.

The blubbering girls were cute enough, I suppose. I ended up cutting the detail of the story in which they came over to thank me the next day, but I was still kind of disgusted about their total uselessness the night before, and I just said "You're welcome" through the screen door and never talked to them again.

3/24/2006 10:01:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Was it Michelle who stood you up that night?


3/24/2006 02:28:00 PM  
Blogger Peter Lynn said...

No, some girl you've never heard of and ultimately was never important in the grand scheme of things. A drama major named Misty, of all things. You think I'd know better. I don't think I'd even met Michelle yet, although I was probably only a couple of weeks away from that.

3/24/2006 04:51:00 PM  

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