My Stephen King moment happened four months back. Turning off my street onto Jacksonville, my regular morning run, I saw a dead animal laying in the middle of the road. Dead animals, the victims of cars, are in abundance in the early summer months with the competition for food and a mate so I paid no mind. That is until I came upon it.
The dead animal happened to be this black cat that I'd frequently meet up with on my runs. We frequently crossed paths in the mornings; I'm not the superstitious type so it never bothered me. In fact it seemed rather friendly, often stopping what it was doing to sit and watch me as I went by. A curious trait in a cat I thought and I was inclined to stop and pet it if I wasn't deathly allergic to cats.
The manner of death was horrifying. The cat lay on its side, like it could be napping, covered head to foot in quills, or needles, or something. And in its middle, where the stomach was, was a pink hole where the guts spilled out.
I carried on with my run. What was I to do?
The next morning on my run I did not notice the carcass in the road when I turned the corner. I was relieved until I got closer and saw the that the carcass had moved closer to the berm. I did not appear to have been run over or kicked, or otherwise moved there. In fact it was in the same state as it was yesterday. The only difference seemed to be in its face, where I swear I saw pain.
I sidestepped the body and carried on with my run. What was I to do?
The third morning kind of freaked me. Now the cat carcass lay directly in my path, the same position as the previous two days and the pained look on its face. Only this time I saw that the right front paw had been severed and was laying there about a foot away from the body.
I was disgusted but I carried on with my run. What else was I supposed to do?
The dead animal happened to be this black cat that I'd frequently meet up with on my runs. We frequently crossed paths in the mornings; I'm not the superstitious type so it never bothered me. In fact it seemed rather friendly, often stopping what it was doing to sit and watch me as I went by. A curious trait in a cat I thought and I was inclined to stop and pet it if I wasn't deathly allergic to cats.
The manner of death was horrifying. The cat lay on its side, like it could be napping, covered head to foot in quills, or needles, or something. And in its middle, where the stomach was, was a pink hole where the guts spilled out.
I carried on with my run. What was I to do?
The next morning on my run I did not notice the carcass in the road when I turned the corner. I was relieved until I got closer and saw the that the carcass had moved closer to the berm. I did not appear to have been run over or kicked, or otherwise moved there. In fact it was in the same state as it was yesterday. The only difference seemed to be in its face, where I swear I saw pain.
I sidestepped the body and carried on with my run. What was I to do?
The third morning kind of freaked me. Now the cat carcass lay directly in my path, the same position as the previous two days and the pained look on its face. Only this time I saw that the right front paw had been severed and was laying there about a foot away from the body.
I was disgusted but I carried on with my run. What else was I supposed to do?
I think you could have just changed the way you made your run after the first day instead of seeing it on day two and three