So dead animals come in threes–and one of em’ almost came in the house.   We do live at the end of a cul-de-sac, but it’s never seemed so deadly–or at least not since the trees tried to kill us several years ago.

The first dead animal of the week was one of those ancient feral cats our neighbors insist on feeding and breeding. It spent too much time in our yard and always looked like a cross between a raccoon, a hideous cat and a monster. No, I did not harm it in any way. My son found it dead in the backyard. No obvious injury or trauma. We had noticed icky excretions around a couple weeks before and thought perhaps they were related. At any rate, Monday afternoon I called Animal Control who said they might be able to get it that evening.  Nope. So we moved it around front–and by we, I mean my husband with the snow shovel–so it couldn’t be missed if we weren’t home.  It was not a pretty picture–and though I was tempted to take a photo or two for this sort of post, there was no way I was about to do that.

Careful down here...

It seemed as if the entire neighborhood decided to take a morning stroll on Tuesday all the way to our turnaround. I didn’t hear any screams, but I can only assume they called Animal Control a time or two as well. We kept calling–twice a day. A turkey vulture and lots of flies visited, but no one who took it away. Later on Wednesday the cat was gone, so I was a happy taxpayer once again.

So imagine my surprise when on Thursday a man in an Animal Control uniform came to my front door,  looking for my dead cat. I told him I thought his outfit had removed it the day before but that was apparently not the case. SO who did?  Sure an animal could have, but it was a clean pick, so I don’t think so. That sucker weighed a ton and dragging it off would have left a trace. I can only assume my feral cat-loving neighbors did the deed. I asked the Animal Control officer if it might have had rabies, but he thought it sounded like distemper, which it turns out, cannot be transmitted to people, though it could wipe out the entire colony. This is not my fault.

The dead voles neither. They are getting unlucky out back.  Maybe they contracted distemper, too. Don’t know. The copperhead that slithered under the storm door this a.m. met his end completely by happenstance. It happened that my husband happened to stand on its head as he was going to get the paper. Good thing he was wearing shoes–my  husband, not the snake–as he actually unknowingly stepped on his, killing it, as he went out the door. It was only on his re-entry that he saw the thing. Fangs and all. Mighty dangerous living in the city.