as told to (your name here)

The Offering

I walked out onto my deck the other morning, something which I don't normally do. First of all, I'm not normally awake in what most people consider "the morning." And then there's my deck, which isn't all that conveniently situated in relation to the logical ingress and egress from my home. Nevertheless, I was on my deck and it was morning. (Look at that, 46 words to say the same thing twice and 18 more to point that out.) Near my front door I discovered something that owners of outdoor cats are well familiar with, the offering.

I'm neither a cat owner, nor a cat person really, but my forays into the world of women have introduced me to this strange phenomenon so I recognized it as such. For those dog-people reading who aren't aware, the offering is a sample of the outdoor cat's fresh kill delivered to your doorstep like a bizarre Hickory Farms package delivered by feline FedEx, only you don't have to sign for it. Often, I'm told, the indoor-outdoor cat will bring the offering into the house to present it to the upright hairless God that provides said cat with treats with names like "Pounce" or "Aquari-Yums". Despite attempts to discourage such behavior, cats will continue to produce the offering from time to time because they are stupid.

The cat(s) that left the offering obviously aren't mine otherwise they would know my comings and goings. However, their stupidity caused them to leave it on my front doorstep instead of near the garage where I would have found it sooner. The morsels (yes, ploural) that were left on my doorstep had been there a few days, but for your sake I won't elaborate on how my forensic skills led me to that conclusion. I do believe, however, that if my doorbell were a few feet lower or perhaps closer to the railing, the cat(s) might have made an attempt to notify me of the presence of the offering. According to National Geographic, we see that in primitive tribes as well- An offering is made, followed by ceremonial horns, bells, or drums to awaken the God(s). (To my knowledge, ceremonial bass guitars are rarely used, perhaps due to the scarcity of extension cords long enough to reach deep into the jungle.) Now all of this is well and good, you might say. Or, like me, you might say this is sick and bad. However, with no one else in the vicinity you'd be talking to yourself again and, although your therapist wants you to quit internalizing everything, talking aloud to yourself is generally considered bad form. I decided to fulfill my role as upright hairless God and closely inspect the offering before deciding whether or not to destroy the village and obliterate the crops. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that the offering was the disembodied head of a rat and the disemheaded body of a baby bird. This did not please me, so I destroyed the village and obliterated the crops after scooping up the offering and double-bagging it into the trash, just as Kong would have done were Jessica Lange not such a tasty morsel herself.

It was later suggested by a friend that perhaps the offering wasn't designed to curry favor but to implore my assistance. Perhaps the cat(s) didn't mean to kill their woodland friends and, after seeing me fix the rusted-out lock on the fence, thought I could reassemble the bits. Cats are just stupid enough to believe that.

Sorry, I didn't take pictures.

posted by tinyhands @ 11:59 PM