The Jody Wilson Stories by Bassam Imam - HTML preview
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Next year, we'll go to British Columbia. I heard it's very beautiful up there," said Steve.
"Well, that's too bad; I won't get to see you guys again. I truly enjoy having tenants like you at the Skyline Apartments. You guys are the epitome of what good tenants are supposed to be like; friendly, clean, and respectful of the rights of your neighbors.
I once lived in an apartment complex that was infested with roaches, rats, scum bags, addicts, drunkards, and convicts. It was terrible! I had a hard time sleeping at night.
I had to endure thundering music, shouting, and fighting from by neighbors.
We had all the 'crummy stuff' a crime-infested community could ask for. Indeed, it was a tough neighborhood. Cats prowled the dark alleys in search of lone rats. Once a lone rat was cornered, it was curtains for it." said Eric.
Eric served the Wilsons coffee and cookies, then removed his copy of the sub-lease, in order to finalize the check-out. The Wilsons were flattered by Ericson's hospitality. Certainly, he didn't have to go out of his way to please them. After all, the Wilsons were leaving the premises.
Steve handed Eric the apartment and mailbox keys, then signed the necessary papers.
The 'former tenants' were anxious, but understood that they had to return to Missouri. Life's not for free. The Wilsons had to get back to work. Thereafter, Eric would be a faded memory.
After leaving Ericson's office, the Wilsons strolled through the corridor, until spotting a dark blue sofa. Karen placed my mother's animal carrier on it. Then, she opened the animal carrier door.
In a quick move, Karen filled a vile with a blue-colored substance. My mother became apprehensive. Somehow, it seemed a bit unusual. My mother couldn’t have imagined what was in store for her.
"Come on, Mandy. Just lick up this very tasty blue milk. I think you'll love it," said Karen.
My mother raised her head, then swallowed every last drop of 'blue milk' that dropped onto her tongue. Surprisingly, the blue milk was very tasty. If that's what you want to call it.
My mother was bamboozled! I mean, she was drugged. Not quite like Cynthia, but nevertheless, put out cold.
My mother was out cold for many hours. Whatever was in that blue milk was very potent, indeed! The Wilsons wanted my mother to sleep through the entire return trip. I guess they were fed up with my mother's bitching about being inside locked up inside a small animal carrier.
My mother awakened in front of the Kansas City
International Airport's taxi stand. Indeed, my mother felt betrayed. She couldn't understand the logic behind it. Naturally, she didn't trust the Wilsons anymore.
"Sir, can you please take us to 1375 Bryson Street West, in Caseyville, Missouri?" asked Steve.
"Yes, I certainly can. I know how to get to Caseyville. Caseville’s quite a distance away. Are you sure you don't want to take the shuttle bus? It'll cost you a lot less," said the cabby.
"We want to ride home alone. We don't want to be in a crowded bus, or van. We had a very enjoyable vacation in Hawaii. The last thing we need is a last-minute problem," said Karen.
They were on their way home. Thankfully, the cabby had a good temperament. Whenever she stopped at a red light or a stop sign, she grinned at my mother. Initially, my mother thought that the cabby was sick in the head. Actually, she was a diehard cat lover.
"I love cats, dearly. In fact, I've got four cats at home. They're so cute and nice to play with. Unfortunately, I must leave them at home whenever I go to work.
I do this 'cabby work' part-time. I attend night school part time, also. I want to be a nurse. The money I earn from this job helps me pay for tuition and fees. My husband pays for everything else. My husband's a mechanical engineer. He grew up in Philadelphia. He moved to Missouri after graduating from college.
We'll move to Philadelphia as soon as I become a registered nurse. I think that my husband and I will earn a good living. My husband makes good money. He had a 3.5 GPA in his major. After graduating, he worked his brains out.
In America, if a husband and wife pull together, work very hard, and stay out of trouble, they'll be much closer to living in their dream home; a mansion with a white picket fence," said the cabby.
As soon they arrived at their destination, the cabby slowed down, then came to a full stop. Afterwards, he pulled the meter lever.
Steve handed the cabby three bills. Then, he told her to keep the change.
"Sir, madam, thank you very much. This is the biggest tip I've ever gotten. I wish you the best of luck in all of your endeavors," said the cabby.
After thanking the cabby, the Wilsons proceeded to walk to their mini-mansion. After living in an apartment for several months, the Wilsons' mini-mansion looked like a castle.
As soon as the three former vacationers were inside the mini-mansion, my mother detected an unusual scent.
"Karen, Steve! Please, stop! Remove me from this stinking animal carrier! I've been locked up inside this pathetic hellhole for way too long! Another more minute and I'll go nuts!" my mother shouted.
Karen was shocked at my mother's audacity. Nevertheless, the point was conveyed. Karen opened the animal carrier door then gently pulled my mother out. As if she needed any pulling.
As soon as my mother was free, she gently pawed the brown living room carpet five times. Her actions indicated her protest. The Wilsons were oblivious to my mother's suffering.
Shockingly, Karen thought that my mother wanted some play time outside. So, she carried her out to the front lawn. My mother wasn't in the mood to continue shouting. Besides, she had major jet lag to deal with.
Although there was a white picket fence on the periphery of the Wilson property, any cat, dog, or adult, could scale the picket fence. In fact, it was only three feet high.
"Mandy go outside and play in the yard! You can play all you want to. Steve and I need to clean up then eat. Your dinner will consist of tuna, milk, and plenty of water.
I almost forgot. If you sense any danger, run back through the 'kitty door' then scream your head off.
Sometimes naughty humans do terrible things to little kitties. Even in posh neighborhoods, like ours. Honey, please stay alert!" warned Karen.
I WANNA GO HOME!
It seemed like my mother 'almost' had it all; a beautiful home, white picket fence, companionship, play area, tasty food, clean water, veterinary care, litter box, and good health. Aside from the recent 'incarceration' she'd endured, everything seemed to be just fine.
Don't be fooled. Deep down inside, my mother understood that life wasn't a joke. Things weren't supposed to be that simple. Not counting her animal carrier ordeal, things were way too good to be true.
My mother was worried about an up and coming catastrophe. What was going to happen? My mother asked herself. Was it possible for a person to jinx him/herself? My mother wondered.
My mother's life was going to be turned upside down. It was only a matter of when and where. Never mind, the why.
Believe me, the event that shocked and destroyed my mother's will and resolve happened on a warm Sunday morning, in the month of August. The Wilsons were out eating brunch at the Pancake Castle. My mother was playing in her mini-playground.
Unfortunately, my mother let her guard down. She'd become oblivious to the 'evil-doers' who were about to destroy her life, forever.
On that dreaded morning, everything seemed normal, until something caught my mother's attention. It was a slow-moving van, that passed by the Wilsons' mini-mansion several times. The van was dark, and appeared ominous. Even the windows were tinted.
On the final pass, the driver parked the dark van across the street from the Wilson's mini-mansion. My mother took notice of it, immediately. So, she cautiously approached the perimeter of the lawn, squeezed her head through the fence postings then took a close look at the dark van.
My mother eyed the dark van for a whole minute. For some unknown reason, she went back to her mini-playground. The fact that the van was dark-colored, and had tinted windows, should have produced a red flag in my mother's defenses. In retrospect, this was a fatal error. It was an error for her and for her progeny (Jody Wilson).
Because it was Sunday, during brunch time, my mother assumed that the driver was eating. Never mind, that the driver had parked his van in a posh neighborhood. Furthermore, the neighborhood was as quiet as death.
Suddenly, a buncher, wearing blue overalls, with a beer gut, exited the van. In my mother's opinion, he was really ugly.
The buncher crossed the street then headed straight for the Wilsons' mini-mansion. Initially, my mother assumed that he wanted to ask her for directions.
As soon as the buncher noticed my mother gawking at him, he stopped then scanned the area. My mother became apprehensive.
Unfortunately, the coast was clear for the buncher. He briskly climbed over the perimeter fence. Then, he walked towards my mother.
The closer the buncher got to my mother, the more apprehensive she became. Now, she placed herself on red alert. Her adrenaline level shot up through the clouds. If need be she would've fought to the death.
"Hey kitty, don't be afraid of me. I'm a nice man. My name's Buster! I'm not one of those 'evil humans' your mommy and owners told you about. Really, I’m not kidding. I just want to be your friend.
Look, I've got a tasty snack for you. I ate three of them on my way here. I know you love fish bits. Can I get a little closer to you? Let me just hold you in my arms. You're so cute. Are you a purebred, or maybe, royalty?" asked the buncher.
Indeed, the buncher was a smooth talker. Too smooth, I must say. No doubt he was a creep.
Unfortunately, my mother didn't realize it at the time. As soon as the buncher smooth-talked my mother, she dropped her guard even lower. The man knew which buttons to push. No doubt, he was a professional.
Shockingly, my mother rolled onto her back, then relaxed. Naturally, the buncher took advantage of my mother. He knelt down then hoisted her off the ground. Afterwards, he tucked her in his arms.
The buncher glanced at the living room windows, to make sure that nobody was watching him. As soon as he was sure that the coast was clear, he ran back to his dark van. I don't know why, but, my mother's guard was still down. What the hell was she thinking of?
While running across the street, the buncher was almost struck by a blue Pontiac. The driver stopped his car then looked at the man and my mother.
Out of utter horror, the man dropped my mother. The driver of the blue Pontiac lowered her window then asked for directions to the nearest highway. Upon hearing this, the man grinned then answered her question.
The woman thanked the man then asked him if everything was all right. I guess she wasn't a cat lover. She drove off without inquiring about my mother.
The buncher ordered my mother to return to him. For some unknown reason, my mother obeyed his command; without any hesitation.
As soon as my mother was in the buncher's grasp, he smacked her across the face. He need not have said anything. It was obvious why he smacked her.
"You freaking bitch! Don't ever 'go away' like that again. I command you to stay by my side!" shouted the buncher.
The buncher opened the dark van's double doors then tossed my mother into a rusty, filthy, gooey cage. The cage door was promptly closed.
"Look, kitty! I just want to take you for a short ride in my beautiful dark van. Because my friend's in the passenger's seat, I'll have to put you in the back. You can watch the beautiful scenery," said the buncher.
My mother instantly realized that there were no windows in the back of the dark van. Furthermore, there was a metallic screen partitioning the van into two. Sadly, my mother's life would never be the same again.
Thereafter, the buncher 'hit' a half a dozen more homes with incredible speed. With each hit, he'd snatch an unsuspecting dog, or a cat. In one of the homes, he snatched three companion animals.
As the number of animals 'stockpiled' inside the dark van, the stench became suffocating. Like a chicken farm, even breathing the noxious fumes was pitifully dangerous. Everything from rust, puke, urine, vomit, pus discharge, maggots, fecal matter, blood, insects (including a few roaches), and sickness, engulfed the interior of the dark van.
After the buncher filled the interior of the dark van with hapless victims, he took hold of a night stick then goaded my mother four times. Although it hurt badly, there was no permanent damage.
In case you don't know: a buncher is a 'person' who steals companion animals from their rightful owners, in order to make a profit. Usually, this ‘person’ sells the hapless victim to an institution, rather than to a person.
The goading of my mother was a clear and visible warning: she was now a money-making, nothing! With no rights, whatsoever!
Immediately after the goading, every single animal inside the van cried. This caused the buncher to lose his temper.
Two dogs were goaded. Maybe, if they'd all yelled out for help, someone would've heard them. Or maybe, that's wishful thinking.
The buncher was working for the 'big boys'. The animals that are stolen from peoples' domiciles may end up in biomedical labs, pet stores, as fighters, or as punching bags for fighting dogs. The goal is always MONEY.
The buncher entered the dark van then began his drive to the 'secret location'. Approximately twenty minutes later, one of the dogs went nuts. He barked, yelled, screamed, and cursed the buncher and his buddy. That was a fatal error!
"Be quiet! Shut-up! I don't want to hear-it! All of you shut your freaking mouths! Or else!
Listen up: You losers are being taken to a secret location. Well, it's not really a secret location for us, only for the general public. When we arrive, you'll obey our commands. If you don't, a series of harsh penalties will be inflicted upon you!
Your new home will be Camp Puppy Mill! Your 'residency' will last until you can no longer help us, or when someone purchases you. I don't want to hear any yelping, barking, meowing, or pleading. In a short while, I'll be driving on the highway. That means I need to be on the alert. If any of you acts up, I'll beat him/her senseless. Now that we have an understanding, I'll continue my drive to 'my paycheck'," said the buncher.
The animals in the van were terrified, depressed, anxious, and confused. They clearly understood what the buncher had said to them.
The buncher entered Highway 733, heading west. He drove on the highway for roughly ten minutes then he entered Junction 485 North.
An escape attempt appeared to be virtually impossible. Wandering escapes are often dangerous.
The buncher drove on Junction 485 North for twenty five minutes, before pulling over into the curb. The animals therein froze in fear. They didn't know what to expect.
The buncher exited the van then walked towards a bushy area. He dropped his pants and underwear then urinated. While urinating, he farted seven times.
Although the animals inside the van were now hungry and thirsty, they still had it in them to laugh their brains out. Too bad, the buncher heard their laughter.
After the buncher finished doing his thing, he walked to the back of the dark van then opened the double doors. He turned around then farted into the dark van. Then, he quickly closed the double doors.
The animals inside the dark van began to gag. The smell of the buncher's fart was almost toxic. Anyhow, a minute later, the buncher opened the twin doors. The animals inside were relieved. Well, they wouldn't have if they'd known what was in store for them.
The buncher reached inside the back of the van, took hold of the same night stick then began to brutally goad a male German shepherd. The poor dog yelped and cried. It was to no avail.
Meanwhile, the German shepherd lay there, crying his brains out. None of the animals dared to cry out in protest. It was now apparent who the BIG BOSS was.
The buncher closed the double doors, then re-entered the dark van. A moment later, he resumed his drive on Junction 485 North.
The German shepherd puked his brains out. In the real world, German shepherds are tough, intelligent, and brilliant. Unfortunately, the dogs in the dark van were gradually becoming de-animalized.
Roughly thirty minutes later, a brown Dachshund began to bang his head against the cage bars. He was going mad. Stereotypical actions don't occur this soon after incarceration.
Most often, this kind of behavior can be seen in two-bit zoos, roadside menageries, and many circuses. The poor Dachshund was oversensitive to being locked up.
As soon as the Dachshund stopped banging his head on the cage bars, things began to quiet down. Some of the animals tried their hardest to get a wink, or two. More often than not, their efforts were futile. Then, a lone voice was heard.
"Please, listen- up! I don't have enough time to go through all of the details. I'll describe what kind of place we're being sent to. Please, no interruptions until I'm done with my story.
I grew up in a puppy mill somewhere in Missouri. Although I love my home state, it's probably the puppy mill capital of our beloved country. Because puppy mill animals don't pay taxes or vote, their predicament is usually ignored by powerful politicians. In that regard, don't expect help, soon.
When I was a puppy, two bunchers brutally snatched me and two of my siblings from our mother. Although our owners were dirt poor, they were very kind and loving. Overall, our family was content with our life.
The bunchers 'slithered' into our yard then quickly snatched us. My mother was sprayed with pepper spray. She totally freaked out!
Afterwards, the bunchers tossed us into filthy cages encrusted with containing dry urine, puss, rust, dirt, fecal matter, puke, blood, and other creepy stuff. Never mind, the terrible stench.
We were sent to a terrible puppy mill. It was la 'bestial concentration camp'. Nobody cared about our feelings, or health. We were given 'slop' to eat, and 'brown water' to drink. Some of our comrades ended up getting sick. Two of my neighbors died. I still don't know what happened to my siblings.
Many animals who survive the puppy mill ordeal are scarred for life. Others die behind bars.
I've forewarned you. Please behave as long as you're an inmate at the puppy mill. Also, don't you dare try to escape!" said a white toy dog.
Meanwhile, the buncher pressed hard on the gas pedal. Indeed, he was a maniac.
As if that wasn't bad enough, the buncher and his buddy were cracking sick jokes. Most of their jokes pertained to animal abuse and neglect.
Soon, the buncher was driving the dark van at 90 mph. The animals inside therein were terrified! At least two of them defecated.
Suddenly, a highway patrolman peeled out his vehicle from the shoulder of the road. He proceeded to chase the dark van down; like a predator chasing its prey.
The buncher was forced to pull over into the shoulder of the road. After coming to a halt, he turned off the ignition.
Then, the buncher 'commanded' the animals to shut their freaking mouths, or else!
Not a single animal dared utter a sound. Indeed, that was a deadly mistake! They should've waited until the right moment, before erupting into a chorus of shouting.
"Hey Andy, is my .22 still in the glove compartment? If that cop asks us to open the glove compartment, we're finished! We'll end up behind bars, like the ugly critters behind us," said the buncher.
Andy chuckled then opened the glove compartment. Afterwards, he hid the .22 underneath his seat.
The buncher told Andy to take out the vehicle registration. To enhance their image, both men put on a fake smile.
"Sir, you were driving over the speed limit! I want to see your vehicle registration and driver's license. What's in the back of the van?" asked the highway patrolman.
The buncher was so terrified he let out a gigantic fart. We could hear the highway patrolman chuckle. That fart probably saved the two bunchers. Thereafter, the highway patrolman's mood was uppity.
"Officer, we have four carpets and some articles of furniture in the back of our van. We're taking these precious goods to my grandma's home. She's very lonely, and needs wallto-wall carpeting, much furniture, and lots of love. My grandpa died of cancer last week. My grandma's been lonely ever since. I apologize for speeding. Scouts honor, I won't do it again," said the buncher.
Unbelievably, the highway patrolman believed that load of crap! He let him off with a stern warning. The animals should have made their move, there and then. The end result attests to their utter cowardice.
The highway patrolman returned to his vehicle then drove off. The buncher waited for a while, before driving off. I guess he was waiting for the highway patrolman to disappear.
Then, an ugly Labrador retriever began to swing his head erratically. He was going nuts! Yes, even animals can go nuts. My mother wondered what was going to happen to the poor Labrador. There's absolutely no use for a 'nutty dog' in a puppy mill.
As soon as the buncher took notice of the mongrel's erratic behavior, he pulled over into the shoulder of the road. Then, he turned off the ignition. After exiting the dark van, he pondered about what to do.
The buncher decided to take drastic action. His response was a stern lesson to the other animals inside the van. Now, there would be no doubt that the criminals in this sleazy enterprise would do anything to make a buck.
The buncher laconically grabbed a night stick then goaded the mongrel a total of fourteen times. This time, no holds were barred. He used momentum and brute strength upon his defenseless victim.
The Labrador screamed in terror! The other animals began to bark and meow, without any let-up. Before long, there was a lot more feces, urine, and vomit, in an around the cages. It stunk like a rats' sewer!
In an act of noble courage, a black and white colored pleaded with the buncher to show some mercy. The buncher snarled at the cat then spat on her. The buncher had no limits to his evil ways.
As soon as the goading episode ended, the buncher returned the night stick. Although the buncher seemed like he wanted to inflict more damage onto the Labrador, he ended up returning to the driver's seat. Well, that's what it looked like.
The buncher took the .22 from Andy then he walked to the back of the van. After bitching-out the Labrador, he pointed pressed the .22 in the Labrador's face. The Labrador was in a state of utter terror. He spontaneously defecated and urinated. Then, he vomited his brains out.
"Listen-up: the next time one of you creatures makes a sound, this 'scummy- dog' will be executed! I'm dead serious!" shouted the buncher.
The Labrador's eyes rolled then he fell onto his back. He looked like a zombie-dog.
The buncher closed the double doors then got back into the dark van.
A few miles later, the buncher made a right turn on the first 4-way intersection. He headed straight to Jimmy's Burger Joint parking lot.
The buncher turned off the ignition then told Andy that they were going to eat-like-pigs. They exited the dark van then walked to Jimmy's Burger Joint.
By now, the animals inside the dark van were famished. Slabs of saliva were being dropped onto the van floor.
The animals were hoping that the bunchers would bring back a few dozen burgers for the animals to eat.
The animals inside the dark van fantasized about sizzling burgers, entering into their mouths.
The bunchers returned an hour later. They were wearing big smiles. In addition, they smelled like burgers, fries, pop, and apple pie. Sadly, their hands were empty. This was a glimpse of things to come. What would it be like at the puppy mill? A reasonable question the animals asked themselves.
The bunchers entered the dark van then they were off. After exiting the parking lot, the buncher resumed his drive to the puppy mill. The smell of burgers was tormenting the animals.
Approximately a half an hour later, the buncher entered a 'quiet street', the proceeded to drive for another fifteen minutes. He slowed down to a halt, looked both ways then entered dirt road. It was apparent that the puppy mill was close by. Worse yet, it was hidden away in some remote area.
The final stretch was terrifying for the animals. It was the typical side road to hell. Henceforth, there'd be no more highways, junctions, or civilization. The animals were now within spitting distance of hell-on-earth.
The animals were too terrified to complain about the jouncing on the dirt road. For all they knew, the buncher would've accelerated, in retaliation.
CAMP PUPPY MILL
Finally, they were at the 'doorstep' of Camp Puppy Mill. Pain, agony, torment, confusion, terror, hunger, thirst, sickness, stench, apprehension, and death, were in the air. The puppy mill stunk like a sewer pit. Actually, it was worse.
The buncher slowed down, then came to a halt. He pulled out his cell phone then called someone working inside the puppy mill. After getting clearance, the security guard allowed buncher to enter the Camp Puppy Mill.
The buncher carefully drove the dark van to a parking space then turned off the ignition. He and Andy laughed up a storm. They were happy to have made a big haul. Big hauls equal much money.
A rugged man with a thick voice approached the dark van then ordered the bunchers out. In fact, he told them to get on the move. No doubt, he was a big man on the premises.
"Hey, how many creatures did you snatch for us this time?" asked the rugged man.
"Mr. Administrator, we've got about a dozen creatures in inside the van. We worked extra hard, just to please you. Because my cousin Andy and I are moving to Pennsylvania, we decided to end our employment with a big blast. These creatures are more precious than gold!" responded the buncher.
"Fantastic! Although I'm sad to see you guys go the creatures in the van will net me a lot of money. Now, let me calculate your pay," said the Administrator.
The animals had become nothing more than 'money machines'. Escape was absolutely impossible. Furthermore, it was apparent that the puppy mill workers (PMWs) would take an escape attempt personally. No doubt, retaliation would be swift and harsh.
After the Administrator paid the bunchers, they quickly exited Camp Puppy Mill. I guess that's what criminals do best; make a fast getaway. This category of criminals tends to be on the move, often. Looking over their shoulders; not knowing when the cops will nab them. Believe me, in the end, they usually regret their life of crime. Somewhere, or somehow, it'll get back to them.
Smart cats, like yours truly know this. Our species has been with humans for eons. We've seen wars, civil wars, genocide, murders, rapes, molestations, beatings, starving, fights, racism, persecution, witch hunts, and many other humancaused-atrocities, committed in the name of whatever the perpetrators feel justifies their horrendous actions. Cats, and other animals, are almost always the forgotten victims in human wars! Cats hate that!
An example of incredible human and animal suffering during a conflict includes the siege of Leningrad, and the Ukrainian Holocaust (1932-33). Sometimes the Ukrainian holocaust is referred to as the Holodomor.
Holodomor is the Ukrainian word for great famine. This is not a strong enough word to describe what happened to the 7 million plus innocent Ukrainian peasants who were deliberately starved to death. Also, many were executed or sent to Siberia.
Stalin's forces were so ruthless anyone who didn't appear to be starving was punished. Furthermore, foodstuffs and supplies were deliberately confiscated or destroyed. You can't live long without food.
The intent was genocide, destruction of the Ukrainian peasantry (by imposing Stalinist collectivization), and abolish Ukrainian nationalism.
In both Leningrad and the Ukraine, as famine set in, even companion animals became food. Of course, the companion animals were also starving. After dogs and cats were eaten, rats came next. Finally, there were cases of human-on-human cannibalism. This was a last ditch effort to survive and eat.
We can't blame the humans who did this, until we've endured what they had to endure. For some reason, bitterly cold regions bring out cannibalism faster than in warmer regions. Smart companion animals know better. They scram before it's too late.
Animals have been used as, byproducts suppliers, traction, entertainment, slavery, celebrities, protectors, companions, subjects of vivisection, punching bags, ridicule, torture, objects of scorn, mummies, and even worship.
These humans seem to forget that cats are incredible beings. We've done a lot of good for this world. Cats have made countless humans and animals much happier, and healthier.
Some cats have a lifelong fear of humans. Terrible childhood experiences with humans, or, no contact with humans for the first few weeks of life can cause this problem. Kittenhood is a very important period of time for cats. Kittens must have contact with humans, or they'll never get used to them. Of course, the initial contact must be positive.
Often times, a good-willed human approaches a stray or a domesticated cat on the street. The cat, who's not sure of the person's intent, may scram. Don't blame the cat. You 'humans' look like GIGANTIC BIPEDALS! You walk on 'twos' instead of 'fours'. Some of you humans look like walking buildings. Anyhow, a cat has a right to fight, or flee. The latter is generally safer.
Without notice, the Administrator, a truly ugly man, violently opened the double doors. The startling effect caused my mother to defecate.
After glaring at the animals, the Administrator ordered two PMWs to come to the back of the dark van. The PMWs hovered over the animals, like hungry vultures.
The Administrator grabbed one of the cages then violently yanked it out. The two PMWs followed suit. My mother felt 'horror' in her heart.
"Hey, send these creatures to their respective shacks. Don't fumble the Job! I can easily replace you with other idiots who'd be more than pleased to do your job for less pay.
As for you ugly creatures, look at the sign in front of the fence ... over there! It reads: CAMP PUPPY MILL. You're in a freaking puppy mill! Your lives are worth the amount of money you can bring us. Don't forget, you're expendable. If you misbehave, or attempt to escape, it'll be curtains for you! By golly, I freaking mean it!
Cases of escape or insubordination will be dealt with, swiftly and brutally. Dr. Strangler, our special veterinarian, will take care of the offender/s," said the Administrator.
One-by-one, the cages were yanked out of the dark van. In all the horror, my mother almost passed out. While being carried to their respective sections, the animals saw row after row of dogs and cats. Each and every animal was in dire straits.
The animals were incarcerated in tiny, filthy, and dilapidated cages. Although most of the inmates were dogs, there were quite a few cats, therein. Truly, this puppy mill was a bestial concentration camp.
Some of the animals were emaciated, and had open sores scattered throughout their sickly bodies. One poor dog had maggots feasting on its flesh. Unfortunately, this dog was too weak and sickly to shrug them off. My mother couldn't comprehend the utter horror that was before her. In fact, my mother was so worried about the other animals, she forgot about herself. Briefly, that is.
Some of the animals were weak, but could be sold. The dilapidated animals could easily be tossed, if need be. Any sale that was made at the puppy mill was a profit.
It was the full-breeds who brought in the big bucks. Full breed studs were used for humping purposes. Bitches were used for reproduction purposes. Other full-breeds would someday be used for special purposes: guarding, hunting, fetching, running, or as docile pets.
A French poodle, which was obviously stolen from her owners, was licking the lead off the bars of her cage. Another dog was eating its poop. Because the poop sometimes overlapped, it was difficult to determine whose poop she was eating.
The PMWs at CAMP PUPPY MILL had to be callous and brutal. No PMW could have a kind heart.
About fifty yards to the right of my mother was a skinny, overall-wearing, PMW. He was bitching out a 'bitch' for not performing. Although my mother couldn't see either of the two, she could hear the conversation. Humping operations were conducted away from the general population.
Bitches in heat are supposed to 'perform' in order to produce more puppies. This bitch was in heat, but would flop over every time the well-built Rottweiler tried to mount her. From what my mother could hear, the Rottweiler was sick in the head. No wonder, she kept flopping over every time he tried to mount her.
Honestly, a small part of my mother held onto the belief that there was PMW. For CAMP PUPPY MILL, she was dead wrong.
The PMW carrying my mother's cage smelled like a sewer. He had patches of smeared feces, urine stains, blood spots, and dry sweat, and other creepy stuff, on his clothing.
My mother was promptly taken to Section C. Each section contained two or more sheds Although CAMP PUPPY MILL was a mess, categorization was efficient.
The 'customer' could order whatever he/she wanted. So long as he paid in cash, in full. The customer almost always got what he/she asked for.
The journey to Section C seemed like it took forever. Seeing those suffering animals on the way was saddening. It was there and then that my mother awakened to her fate. She realized that she was one of them. She was a creature worthy of no respect, whatsoever.
Hollywood couldn't have made a better horror movie. In fact, I've been wondering why Hollywood hasn't made a good movie about puppy mills. Keep the PMWs as they are. No makeup, disguises, or changes in behavior, are necessary.
Most of the cages in the sheds were stacked row upon row, and in linear form. There wasn't a smile to be seen. Dogs and cats on the lower-level cages had to beware. If any dog or cat on a higher level were to defecate, urinate, bleed, or vomit, it was bombs away. The unlucky targets were like chickens in poultry sheds.
Section C housed 'the living dead'. It contained twenty five dogs and three cats, none fully alive, and none truly dead. As expected, there wasn’t a happy face in sight.
Initially, my mother cried her brains out, not only for the other animals, but also for herself. The reality of her predicament hit her like a ton-of-bricks. Camp Puppy Mill was a Fort Knox. There was no chance of escape in sight, except death or purchase. Purchase by whom? That's another problem, altogether.
In her naivety, my mother assumed that the PMW carrying her cage would feel a bit sorry for her. In reality, no empathy was given to her. All she got was a snarl and a subtle threat.
Shockingly, the PMW dropped my mother's cage then reached over to the shed wall and .grabbed a night stick. She goaded my mother in her side. It hurt badly. Unfortunately, there was nobody to protect my mother.
The goading was a preemptive strike. Its purpose was to ensure that no future misbehavior would occur.
We 'animals' can feel physical pain, and mental anguish. Every single dog and cat who's ever lived in a filthy puppy mill has suffered immensely. We're not zombies!
Furthermore, animals can detect physical and mental cues from other beings more proficiently than humans can.
Cats and dogs do cry, too. Although their crying often sounds like pouting, yelping, or meowing, it's not. I'm not saying that every time a dog pouts or a cat meows he/she is crying. Some humans think they can understand animals' physical and mental cues. Humans sometimes interpret animal responses and behaviors in a way that benefits their own kind. Never mind the animals' benefit.
Sometimes, animals want to speak in their own 'lingo'. Why not? It's their natural right to do so.
Now back to the puppy mill story. Purebreds, or fullbreeds, are worth a lot more money than mongrels. German shepherd dogs are respected by breeders and fanciers, the world over. Not to mention, your everyday 'Citizen Joe'.
German shepherd dogs are perhaps the best 'well-rounded' dogs. Well, by feline standards, that is. German shepherds have been used by humans for fighting, guarding, chasing, breeding, sniffing, showmanship, companionship, wars, and steeplechase races.
Unfortunately, physical ailments may occur in German shepherds' hindquarters. Just take a good look at their sloping backs.
Dog breeders want a certain look, and behavior pattern, for each breed. Never mind the ill effects on the dogs! Even cats can see the gross deformities in certain purebreds. Inbreeding, line breeding, and out breading, all for the benefit of humans. If done naturally, out breeding is not harmful to dogs.
However, it may not be right for a human to pick and choose which dog mates with which. I hope that my feline ancestors don't end up as varied and creepy as some dog species are. Humans have played with the natural order of things long enough. Just leave us alone!!!
The turning point came when my mother was tossed into her special, dilapidated cage. Cats know that locked cages are almost impossible to get out of. We're not as talented at picking locks as orangutans are. For a brief moment, my mother wished that she was an orangutan.
The floor of my mother's cage and the ground beneath it were engulfed in gooey stuff. My mother scented semen and vaginal fluid in the shed.
As if things weren't bad enough. As my mother was pondering about her pathetic predicament, a young PMW taped a squared piece of cardboard in front of her cage. The PMW pulled back the cardboard piece then flashed it in front of my mother's face: DETAINEE # 33456-A, Section C, Shed 2.
My mother was so shocked she actually stopped breathing for a few seconds. She couldn't believe her eyes! Where was the President of the United States? Where was the Governor of Missouri? Where was the mayor of the nearest town? What the hell?!
The PMW behaved as though my mother was an article of furniture. After finishing her job, she turned then walked away. As soon as she got to the shed door, she spat some chewing tobacco juice out of her ugly mouth. No wonder, she had bad breath.
A Dachshund bitch a few cages down begged for some water. That was a fatal error.
As soon as the poor Dachshund had uttered her last word, the PMW walked back to within a few inches of her cage then grinned. After grinning, she spat a large wad of tobacco juice into the eye of the Dachshund's eye. Instantly, the Dachshund yelped.
The PMW laughed her brains out, then turned around and left our shed. The other animals in the shed weren't surprised by her behavior. In fact, their expressions appeared bland. Like, they'd seen this happen a bazillion times before.
Where did these 'humans' come from; another planet? My mother wondered.
A short while later, one of the animals, a Beagle, puked his brains out. Afterwards, he tried to yelp, but couldn't. He didn't have the strength to make a sound.
A short while later the Beagle urinated, then pooped. Both substances splashed onto the Beagle's hind legs. This further aggravated the preexisting burns located in the same spot. In addition, the Beagle had a large sore near his right eye.
His worst problem was a festering wound; a terrifying gash on his skin caused by scraping a 'splintered' cage bar. Sadly, the Administrator of Camp Puppy Mill wasn't going to call a veterinarian for this festering problem. As far as he was concerned, it would cost too much money. Besides, it was the Beagle's pain, not his own.
You see, the resident veterinarian's duties were limited to supervision of breeding, and quick repair before the sale.
My mother tried to comfort the Beagle by opening up a conversation.
"Hello, what's your name?" my mother asked.
"Who are you? Why are you trying to hurt me?! I haven't done anything to you, or anyone else! Please, don't hurt me! I can't take any more pain in my life!" exclaimed the Beagle.
"I'm not trying to hurt you, really. I was bamboozled into this hell-hole a short while ago. I just want to hear your story. Please, don't be afraid of me. Can't you see: I'm a freaking cat! It's not like I have the strength to bend my cage bars, then leap out and strangle you.
Please, let's try to eat the slop splattered on our bowls, first. At least, we'll some food in our stomachs," said my mother.
The slop was a mixture of low-budget animal byproducts, vegetable waste, and perhaps, rendered meat. In case you don't know, rendered meat is produced from dead animals. Specifically, from the animals who'd died in the puppy mill. This is 'forced cannibalism'!
A couple of PMW's came by with some more slop. Normally, servings were only enough to keep the animal alive. Apparently, the animals in Section B went on a temporary hunger strike. Therefore, the animals in Section C ate their comrades' share. Indeed, the Administrator was a cold person.
When the PMW's entered our shed, the animals looked the other way, in disgust. They didn't want to have anything to do with that slop. I can't blame them.
The PMW's didn't appreciate the way the animals responded to their kind gesture. One PMW proceeded to toss the slop at the animals. The other PMW thought it was entertaining. So, he joined in the 'fun'.
After the PMWs had enough of tormenting the animals in the shed, they promptly left. This I must say was to the satisfaction of the animals therein.
Afterwards, my mother took a long look at the Beagle, hinting that she wanted to hear 'his story'. She got what she wanted.
"My name is Timmy Holden. I was born and raised in Marshal, Missouri. I was previously owned by Rodney and Jennifer Dorsey.
The Dorseys were an elderly couple. They treated me like one of their own. In fact, they often went out of their way to please me.
In their youth, the Dorseys were social workers. They were very kind to me. Jennifer was a wonderful woman who had the attitude of a well-educated/behaved woman. In her golden years, she also did part-time volunteer work at the Marshal Public Library.
For example, every Saturday morning she read stories to children. In addition, she'd spend extra time with special needs children. It took a diligent effort, but, Jennifer was all for it. No cat or dog could've wished for better owners.
I was under the Dorseys' care for three whole years. They'd built a special 'doggy palace' for me. Although the Dorseys loved me, they didn't want any dogs in their home. It worked for the better. My palace was spacious, and had good ventilation. It was cleaned on a daily basis. Food and water were provided for me twice a day, but more often, if I pouted.
On Fridays, the Dorseys would prepare a special steak dinner for me. I appreciated that. Compared to other cats and dogs, I was living in a dream world. Above all else, the doggy palace was mine.
Whenever the Dorseys walked me through the neighborhood, I saw other dogs and cats. Some of the dogs were going mad. These were the chained dogs. They were usually chained to a tree; others were chained to other fixed objects. For them, there was neither escape, nor relief.
The Marshal Police force couldn't have cared less about the countless chained dogs in their city. Unfortunately, the chaining of dogs for sustained periods of time is quite common. Hardly anyone calls '911' for this matter. Actually, it has to be made illegal first. Otherwise, the call will be to no avail.
Kitty, just thinking about the Dorseys' home brings tears to my eyes. I never imagined being an inmate in a gruesome puppy mill. That was the furthest thing from my mind. I'd heard stories about dogs and cats being snatched from their rightful owners. Sometimes this was done right underneath their owners' noses. I figured that kind of thing only happened in big cities."
"Give me 'specifics' about your life. You seem like a nice 'doggy'. Please, continue your story," my mother requested.
"Kitty, on a sweltering August morning, the Dorseys walked me through the neighborhood. About twenty minutes into our walk, I became apprehensive and anxious. We were approaching something strange.
Cleveland Boulevard was clean, quiet, and relatively safe, year-round. However, as we continued our walk my pulse raced. I didn't understand what was happening to me. Jennifer tried to calm me down, smiling at me with much love in her heart," said Timmy.
My mother interrupted Timmy then apologized. She didn't want Timmy to keep calling her Kitty. That wasn't her name.
"My name is Mandy Wilson. Like you, I once lived in an uppity home. I was literally an uppity cat. I guess we're in the same boat. Hopefully, we'll be purchased by a loving human," said my mother.
"I'm really sorry you ended up in this pathetic manure pit. I'll continue my story, so you don't fall asleep on me," said Timmy.
As we approached what felt like 'death', the Dorseys picked up the scent of rotting flesh. I was sure that this death was emanating from a human. Rotting human flesh is perhaps the ‘smelliest’ of all species.
As soon as we crossed into Portman Street, the cadaver was within spitting distance of us. I noticed that the cadaver had several bullet holes in its chest. Excuse me, in HIS chest. I shouldn't refer to him as an 'it'. He had a boxer's nose, cauliflower ears, rough hands, and hamburger eyes. Indeed, even in death, this cadaver was a tough-looking character.
My first impression was that it was a gang-related killing. I scanned the area, looking for suspicious-looking characters. Thankfully, there were none around. If his killers were around, they would've shot us dead. As far as they were concerned, we were witnesses.
Jennifer shrieked in terror. After recovering, she pulled out her cell phone then called the police. The Dorseys couldn't have cared less, if the dead man had been a pillar of the community, or a creepy criminal. They were outstanding citizens of the community. To them, every human was worthy of respect.
“Please, send someone to 4356 Portman Street. There's a dead man on the sidewalk!” exclaimed Jennifer.
After Jennifer finished talking to the police dispatcher, she turned off her cell phone then put it inside her pocket.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Rodney hardly shed a tear. He was better at holding back his emotions.
While waiting for the police to arrive, two men inside a dark Toyota pickup drove by the scene four times. On the fifth pass, I stared them down. That was the last time we saw them. I think they were the thugs who gunned-down the victim. For some reason, when I saw them, all the fear and apprehension inside of me disappeared.
Shortly afterwards, two police cars, along with an ambulance, arrived at the scene. Apparently, the dispatcher conveyed the wrong message to the police. The paramedics were behaving as though they were in a hurry to save a dying man. Not so. He was as dead as a 'corpse'.
Three police officers and two paramedics quickly exited their vehicles. Then, they rushed to the cadaver. As soon as they realized that the man was dead, they slowed their movements to a tortoise pace.
A young, handsome paramedic, made the official
pronouncement of the man's death. As soon as he began to speak to the police officers, three more patrol cars arrived at the scene. Two of them were marked, while the third wasn't.
This time, a man in a suit, along with three 'uniforms', exited their vehicles. Apparently, this 'cadaver' had been a big time criminal when he was alive. No wonder, he was so damned ugly.
The officers questioned us about what we saw. Afterwards, we were told to wait at the other side of the street.
The police sealed off the area. We waited for roughly fifteen minutes before an Officer Hayes jotted down our names, addresses, phone numbers, and other important information.
Officer Hayes was cordial, understanding, and got to the point. He assured us that everything would be done to apprehend the murderer/s.
Officer Hayes asked us not to 'blabber' this story to our neighbors and friends. In effect, we had to close our traps.
Officer Hayes offered to give us a ride home. We declined. Afterwards, he thanked us 'diligently' for calling the police immediately after we saw the dead man.
Sadly, Officer Hayes was also frustrated because he knew that other people had passed by the dead man. A cursory investigation had determined that the man had been dead for several hours.
The first pedestrians who saw the dead man scrammed, really fast. There's your good citizenry.
Mandy, when the Dorseys and I were leaving the crime scene, Officer Hayes yelled out to us.
“Hey, wait a minute! I forgot to tell you something important! Please, come here!” said Office Hayes.
“The Dorseys and I approached Officer Hayes then cropped our ears.
Officer Hayes lowered his voice to a whisper,” said Timmy.
“For the following week or two, if you see any stranger/s lurking near your home, call the police, immediately! It's possible that the killer/s saw you. You guys may be perceived as hostile witnesses,” said Officer Hayes.
We thanked Officer Hayes then walked away. But, not before I received a harsh reprimand from Rodney.
“Mandy, next time, DON'T stare down potential killers! DON'T do it again,” said Jennifer.
I was aware that we had to keep a lookout for all suspicious pedestrians and drivers. Cell phones should be within arms' reach at all times.
We walked back home, then crashed out for many hours. We were exhausted from the ordeal. Not to mention, a bit apprehensive.
Incredibly, six whole months passed without incident. It looked like the murderer/s had gotten away with their crime.
At the ten month mark, we stopped expecting a call from the police. As far as we were concerned, the case was closed.
Months later, on a cool September morning, Jennifer awakened from her nap by sharp back pain. She moaned and groaned for several minutes, until the pain subsided.
Afterwards, Jennifer went to the restroom. She washed her hands and face with soap and water, dried up, then went to the kitchen.
Jennifer opened a can of dog food then poured the contents into a clean bowl. After making sure that the can was empty, she tossed it into the waste basket.
Jennifer carried the bowl out into the yard then proceeded to walk to my castle. As soon I took notice of her, I developed gigantic wads of saliva. Each wad was dangling from my mouth. I was famished.
In fact, I was in a deep sleep until the scent of meat shot up into my nostrils. Once awake, I couldn't go back to sleep.
Jennifer waved the bowl of dog food in front of my face, left to right. She was kind of teasing me. If it were another dog, Jennifer would've been bit. Not me. I loved Jennifer.
I gobbled my food, relentlessly. Beef and gravy has always been my favorite. In fact, most dogs love beef and gravy. I never met a dog who didn't like this mix.
I noticed a peculiar weakness in Jennifer. She winced as soon as she bent over. I felt guilty after gobbling my food. Why didn't I ask Jennifer how she was doing? I later wondered.
Mandy, many species of animals sense when another animal or human is sick. This ability has existed in the animal kingdom for eons upon eons.
Mandy, your predatory ancestors targeted the weak, sickly, old, and vulnerable prey animals. Predators are especially good at detecting weakness and sickness. Mind you, I'm not saying that we can sense every single ailment and disease afflicting an animal or human. But, we can do a pretty darn good job.
Mandy, aside from dogs, cats are my favorite species. I'm one of those dogs that can't live without the presence of a cat, or two. It would be a dull world if there were no cats around.
Although Jennifer appeared a bit weak, she and Rodney still found time to take walk me at least once a day. For the time being, things were too good to be true. I mean, it was only a matter of time before Jennifer wouldn't be able to function properly. I was bracing myself for that dreaded day.
It happened on a cool Wednesday morning in the month of January. The Dorseys left home early. Something seemed odd about their behavior. They were hiding something from me.
Rodney drove his car around the block then parked it in a secret spot. Fortunately for me, I knew where the secret spot was.
I could hear Jennifer crying her brains out. Rodney was trying to perk her up with a good talk. His effort was futile. From what I could determine, Jennifer had an incredibly serious ailment. Which ailment? I certainly didn't know.
The Dorseys returned home the next day at 8:30 A.M. Rodney parked his car in the garage. I could sense that something was terribly wrong.
As soon as Rodney turned off the ignition, he leaned over towards his wife then kissed her on the cheek. That was strange, considering he'd never done this in public before. So, I decided to tune-into their conversation. I wasn't spying on them. I was concerned about Jennifer.
After the Dorseys exited their car, Rodney scanned the area, in order to make sure the coast was clear. He gently took his wife's hand then kissed it, with extreme emotion. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He looked deep into Jennifer's eyes then told her that he'd stand by her, regardless. He also told her that a diagnosis of bone cancer wasn't the end of the world. Jennifer put on a forced smile then told Rodney that she was married to the best man in the whole world.
While the Dorseys were walking to their house, I noticed that Jennifer's health had worsened considerably. She was barely able to walk. Also, she was pale and haggard; using a cane.
I was terrified. Bone cancer's a very serious problem! Prognosis: perhaps three years, give or take some.
After the Dorseys entered their house, I cried my brains out. I'd heard about dogs who'd endured their final days with bone cancer. I figured being a human wouldn't place you in a 'luckier state'.
As the months passed, Jennifer continued her downward spiral; slowly, but surely. Her visits to the hospital became more and more frequent. She lost weight and became sickly pale in appearance. She was no longer able to place a bowl of food in front of my paws. It was now Rodney's job to do that. Although he was a swell guy, Jennifer was the best feeder. Nobody could ever cheer me up like she could.
I figured that Jennifer had a short time to live. She appeared to be close to the stage of non-return. I didn't know what would become of me after her death.
Rodney and I were also adversely affected by Jennifer's illness. He and I became depressed, anxious, and lost weight. Ironically, we also became much better friends. He and I often talked about the good old days, as though there were no more to come. It was the sad truth.
After many months of unending deterioration, Jennifer was finally taken to the General Hospital Emergency Room. I must emphasize that she was taken by ambulance. I figured she'd never return.
It happened like a sudden jolt. While napping, I was startled by the sound of an ambulance siren.
Even though the ambulance was getting closer and closer, I assumed the ambulance was heading to another residence in the vicinity. Unfortunately, the ambulance ended up pulling into the Dorsey's driveway. Two paramedics quickly exited the ambulance, got their gear then ran to the Dorsey's front door.
Because Rodney was waiting behind the door, he let them in, without delay. I knew it was serious because both paramedics had that look on their faces.
Instantly, I became anxious; unable to relax or think about anything or anyone, except for Jennifer. Fifteen minutes later, they were off to the emergency room.
Jennifer was unconscious, and Rodney had teary eyes. As they were walking to the ambulance, one of the paramedics saw me through the corner of his eye. With that, he turned his head to face me. Then, he gave me a thumbs-down. At least he was honest.
The same paramedic turned back then spoke to Mr. Dorsey.
“Mr. Dorsey, I've got two lovely cats at home. It's nice having 'non-human' companions around. It's a fine and interesting addition. Sometimes, I get all fed-up and tired with the problems of life. Just take a look at my job. Although I love it, the stress factor's mind-boggling,” said the paramedic.
I looked straight into the paramedic's eyes. Not in a show of aggression, or a challenge, but in friendship. He turned to face me then did likewise. For a brief moment, he and I were united.
It took me seven whole hours to regain my appetite. I was able to eat the beef and gravy sitting in my bowl.
Although I was famished I had a hard time eating. My beloved Jennifer was dying.
For the next several days, Jennifer lay in an emergency room bed at the General Hospital's ICU. Rodney and I were going nuts.
It was on the ninth day that I received another shocker. Rodney had returned home a 10:05 P.M. While walking to his house, Rodney gave me a long stare. Then, I saw a tear dribble down his right cheek. It wasn't caused by eye irritation. It was a genuine 'cry-baby-tear'.
After Rodney wiped his cheek he informed me that 'our love' was dying.
I'd never seen Rodney so pale and 'sickly-looking'. It appeared as though he'd been crying for some time. His eyes were more bloodshot than Count Dracula's.
Thereafter, Rodney visited Jennifer every single day. A week later, it happened. This time Rodney returned from the General Hospital at 2:15 A.M. He appeared very haggard. He staggered to my dog palace then fell onto the ground.
For the next minute or two, I was thrown into a state of utter shock. I nudged Rodney's head several times. Luckily, it worked. Rodney came to, then got up and looked around.
Rodney appeared apprehensive. It was like he wanted to do something, but was too shy to do it. What was it? I wondered.
Unable to control his emotions, Rodney wept like a little child. It became apparent to me that Jennifer was either on the verge of dying, or had already died. Both case scenarios would cause Rodney to weep like a child.
“Timmy, I've got some really bad news for you. I don't know how to lead into it, so, I'll be blunt. Jennifer died an hour ago. The doctors and nurses in the ICU did their best to help her. They went beyond the call of duty. So much so, that I plan to give them a generous donation after my beloved Jennifer is buried.
ICU staff workers around the world are true heroes. In addition to being in a medically-stressful environment, they have to deal with the presence of urine, fecal matter, vomit, blood, sweat, stench, and many sad outcomes.
The worst case scenario is death. Mind you, many patients walk out of the ICU and make a full recovery. THANK GOD FOR THAT!
There's hardly anyone around to thank the ICU staff. Truly, they are underpaid and overworked,” said Rodney.
It was a sad morning, indeed. Rodney and I fell into a deep depression. Animals can really become attached to their human owners. I've heard stories about animals refusing to eat after their owner has died. It's quite understandable, considering the level of love between some humans and some animals. I use the word 'some' because not all of us are 'interspecies friendly'.
After mourning for two months, Rodney joined The Seniors' Mourning Club (SMC). A local organization that was formed to help seniors go through their mourning process, and to support them for the rest of their lives.
Rodney made a dozen or so friends at the SMC meetings. Within a month, four SMC members made bi-weekly visits to Rodney's home; Mondays and Wednesdays.
Things were fine for a while. I truly believed that out of this tragedy, something good would happen. Specifically, closer ties between Rodney and me. I really thought we were going to become buddies. Boy was I dead wrong. The bad news hit me like a ton of bricks.
On a cloudy Wednesday afternoon, in the month of April, Rodney approached my dog palace with extreme apprehension. As soon as he got to within a foot of me, he paused for a moment. It was like he'd rehearsed his words many times over.
Sensing bad news in the air, I became very anxious. My breathing became labored and very shallow. I began to tremble. I almost foamed at the mouth.
Rodney informed me that he was moving to the Yates Seniors' Home (YSH), five hundred and fifty miles north of town.
Rodney had found a buyer for his house. In other words, I was being dumped. Where to? I had no idea. After all the faithful years I put with that man. The nerve of him!
Alarm bells rang in my ears. Where would I sleep, eat, drink, and play? Was I going to be sent to an animal hoarder, shelter, or biomedical lab?
Assuming that I was going to be 'tossed' in a few days, I decided to prepare myself in advance.
Shockingly, I was given away 'to a good home', a few hours later. I had no time to escape, or do anything, for that matter.
Humans who intend to sell their companion animals should never advertise in this manner: FREE TO A GOOD HOME. Often times, animal abusers or individuals who want to make big bucks off 'doggies' or 'catties', answer this kind of advertisement.
During the interview, they put on an act. They behave themselves. Don't be fooled. They've never had those good qualities. Indeed, this is their deceitful facade.
Well, Rodney fell for it. I found out later that the couple who answered his ad claimed that 'I' was to be a birthday present for their little girl. In reality, they didn't have a little girl. They were low-level bunchers, sent to do a job.
I don't really have any anger towards Rodney. He was a sick, elderly man. His faculties were dissolving. At the time, I suspected that he was in the early stages of Alzheimer's disease.
Instantly, I ended up in the custody of David and Gloria Granger. I got bad jibes from them. They must've smiled at Rodney throughout their conversation, hiding the wickedness in their hearts. In the end, it was a fatal error for me.
As soon as Rodney handed me over to the Grangers, he looked at me with his teary eyes, then turned around and walked back to his house. That was the last time I ever laid eyes on him.
The Grangers quickly hauled me into the back of their blue van then drove straight to a hell-hole. A terrible puppy mill, that is.
As soon as we entered the puppy mill, a tall, husky, meanlooking man, waved us over to this shed.
The Grangers exited their blue van then ran to the man. I was dragged, tooth-and-nail. To intensify my pain and discomfort, the Grangers had placed a choke collar around my neck.
The Grangers sold me to the mean-looking man. It meant that I was now in his custody. I kept my eye on the Grangers as they walked away. I was trying to figure out what was happening.
To my horror, they walked into the snack bar, not giving a damn about me. Now, I absolutely knew that something terrible was going to happen. How could any human/s compare with the Dorseys? They were the kindest dog owners in the whole world. I began to weep. I just wanted to be sent back to Rodney. Was I wanting too much?
Mandy, I've been in this terrible hell-hole for so long; I hardly know what century it is. My official occupation is 'designated stud'.
Mandy, if these creeps could mate a dog with a cat, you and I would now be doing just that. Thankfully, there's no such thing as interspecies mating.
They've hooked me up with 'heated bitches'. Mandy, if you were a stud, you'd understand that a heated bitch is irresistible. I've mounted so many bitches I need a calculator to figure out the actual number. I've probably got droves of dogs who can claim to be of 'Timmy's progeny'.
Don't get me wrong. I must perform, or else. Once, I saw a former racing Greyhound stud being beaten mercilessly for not performing. He had open sores and slashes throughout his body. No wonder, he couldn't perform.
On a chilly Tuesday morning, in the month of February, the administrator of Camp Puppy Mill came by to take a look at the Greyhound stud. After being briefed by the PMWs, he ordered them to sell 'the creature' to a biomedical lab. As soon as one of his PMWs informed him that the Greyhound was an all-roundreject, the administrator ordered that the Greyhound be taken out into the forest and shot. Of the three PMWs there, two of them grinned. The Administrator 'guffawed'.
They thought it was going to be fun to 'take- out' an innocent dog. Yes, an innocent dog. By the way, the Greyhound's name was Brendan.
In his prime, Brendan was a professional racing dog. He raked in tons of money for his owner. Because of the brutal life Brendan was forced to live, within eighteen months, he developed severe bone fractures and ligament tears. Not to mention a terrible ulcer. Naturally, his owner dumped him into the hands of a thug; anything for a quick buck.
Tens of thousands of Greyhound racing dogs around the world are killed when they're young. These are the 'rejects'; unable to make the grade. Those who do make the grade are forced to endure immense pain and suffering in the terrible Greyhound racing industry.
I don't know which is worse, being killed outright, or living a terrible life?
Mandy, I'm sorry to have dumped my sad story on you. You seem like a very nice cat. I think you'll be adopted soon," said Timmy.
Suddenly, two PMWs entered our shed. They proceeded to open the cages then placed warm water in each of the bowls.
Both PMWs had cruel faces. No wonder, I smelled human flesh while Timmy was conveying his story. The PMWs were behind the shed door, listening in.
When they arrived at my cage, I tried to back away, but couldn't. I mean, there's only so much I could've done in a tiny cage. A human can easily reach into any corner of our cages.
"I don't give a stinking-crap what you animals feel like. I'm here to make a quick buck; tax free of course. Furthermore, I truly enjoy seeing you creatures in suffer. I really get off on it!" shouted one of the PMWs.
Mandy, only after one week of incarceration, the 'snap' in my physical and mental strength began to disappear. The lack of fresh air, exercise, nutrition, rest, proper shelter, and love, took its toll on me. The filthiness of the environment and the numerous diseases in the air didn't make matters any better.
My nights at Camp Puppy Mill were engulfed in the shrieks of pain and sadness that were emanating from the other animals.
Mandy, it was like we were doing hard time. Camp Puppy Mill was worse than Leavenworth Penitentiary.
What the hell did we do! Really, not one single dog or cat in this stinking puppy mill has committed a crime. Animals that have a habit of attacking humans end up on death row; not in puppy mills. We're all innocent of any wrongdoing.
As the weeks turned into months, I began to twitch every time a dog or a cat was goaded. Goading was performed as a disciplinary response, or just for the heck-of-it. Also, it provides a serious reminder to all the animals; you are helpless.
According to the Puppy Mill Administrator, misbehaving involved any animal who made too much noise, tried to attack a PMW, or griped about his/her predicament. None of the PMWs had the patience to listen to a complainant.
Attempted escapes or physical attacks inflicted upon a PMW resulted in the most severe punishment.
A successful escape resulted in the loss of revenue. Furthermore, if an example isn't set for the other animals, more of them will try to escape. Indeed, every precaution has been made to prevent an escape, and to capture an escapee. Of course, corporal punishment laid out for this action is performed in front of the other animals," said Timmy.
"Timmy, has there ever been an escape attempt that was known throughout the puppy mill. I mean, like a hero?" my mother asked.
“I must convey to you a sad and terrifying story. It relates to a dog who dared to defy the rules. He was brave, courageous, and very kind. What happened to him is a constant reminder for the witnesses herein. Mandy, crop your ears, and listen-up.
On a very humid night in the month of August, a German shepherd managed to get out of his cage. He quickly exited the shed then ran to the perimeter fence. I'm certain that he was a newcomer. The punishment for an escape attempt wasn't conveyed to him.
After realizing his mistake, the German shepherd stopped barking. Unfortunately, one of the sell-outs (guard dogs) had already heard his barking.
As soon as the German shepherd reached the perimeter fence, he desperately searched for an opening, or some kind of gap to squeeze through.
Roughly 30 seconds later, two sellouts charged at the escapee. They came out like wild bulls, charging a matador.
At that moment, the German shepherd found a gap in the fence barely big enough to squeeze through. After squeezing his slim body through the gap, he ran straight to Gordon Forest.
The sellouts sustained their pursuit in earnest, until the shift supervisor called them back. They obeyed his command, without delay. For a moment, the other animals thought that one of their brethren had escaped. Indeed, that would've been nice. Sadly, terrible news was just on the horizon.
The animals in the cages were so anxious for their comrade to escape many of them defecated on the spot! They knew that if he were to be captured, the consequences would be horrific; not only for their brethren but also for many of the other animals.
To make the chase more effective, the Administrator ordered the formation of two posses. Everyone involved in the chase was armed. Only one weapon or tool per person from any one of the following: firearm, knife, whip, flashlight, whistle, cell phone, baseball bat, and rope.
Mandy, don't forget: some animals will sell us out in a second. Bribery can be a very powerful weapon.
The Administrator was totally pissed off. In fact, everyone involved in the chase was pissed off. They wanted to get their hands on the escapee.
Mandy, the Administrator wanted to destroy our brethren," said Timmy.
“This is Mr. Administrator speaking! I'm taking this escape attempt ... personally! This 'mongrel-head' can't get away! I don't want any of you idiot-inmates to get any ideas, either. All available personnel will form into posses! We'll hunt this bastard down then we'll punish him!
Whoever captures the mongrel-head will receive five hundred dollars in cash! No questions asked. As for the guard dogs, I've commanded them to resume their chase. Lets' go!”
Mandy, all hell broke loose! There were 'sounds' and 'noises' coming from every direction. Meanwhile, the barks of the sellouts became more terrifyingly vicious.
A chubby PMW with an ugly wart on his nose entered our shack. He brightened the overhead lights then stared down several of the animals. He too, got personal with us,' said Timmy.
“Too bad, we will catch your friend! Afterwards, we’ll do him just fine! I can't wait until it happens! It will be very entertaining.
Camp Puppy Mill has no room for compassion towards any of its animals. Or, should I say, inmates? Creatures, this is a big business! Most people, including politicians, couldn't care less about you. In fact, I know of one very powerful state politician who purchases his dogs from Camp Puppy Mill, said the chubby PMW.”
“Mandy, the animals in our shed knew that the chubby PMW wanted something from us. We had a gut feeling about it,” said Timmy.
"Come on just help us capture this mongrel-head! If you lead us to his capture, you'll be out of this hell-hole in no time! Hell, you can become one of our guard dogs if you want,” said the chubby PMW.
“Mandy, not one single animal in our shed accepted the chubby PMW's offer. We were sickly, tired, depressed, starving, dehydrated, and outright fed-up with the PMWs. The last thing we wanted to do was to help them.
As the chase continued, it became evident that 'our comrade' was going be captured. This discovery was devastating to the animals in the puppy mill. So much so, it caused widespread depression. In other words, many of the animals were totally 'bummed-out'.
The PMWs and the sell-outs were tightening the noose on the search area. It was a magnanimous hunt. The hunters formed a large circle then slowly walked towards the nucleus. With the circle getting smaller and smaller, there was no possibility of escape. Even if our comrade could've flown, it wouldn't have lead to anything. The bullets fired from the rifles of the armed PMWs would strike our comrade in mid-air, if need be.
When the dreaded moment came, we braced ourselves for the worst. Our comrade was captured. It sounded like three sellouts had gotten hold of him. They were tormenting our comrade; taking 'snippets' from various parts of his body.
A short while later several more sell-outs arrived at the scene. Instead of protecting our comrade, they joined in 'the fun'. It wasn't until several human members of the posse arrived that things really got gruesome.
Our comrade was goaded, kicked, spat on, beaten with a night stick, and dragged around. Suddenly, there was quiet. As with previous escape attempts by other animals our comrade was muzzled by a PMW. Then, he was strapped onto a special stretcher, to be taken back to Camp Puppy Mill.
Our comrade lay on a stretcher, unable to move or resist. He'd been disgraced and defeated. This tragedy was a 'morale sinker'.
As soon as the PMWs entered the puppy mill, we felt a sudden rush of horror run through our veins. Next was ‘Mr. Administrator's’ short announcement, said Timmy.
“Okay, PMWs and animals! We've captured the mongrel-head. Good news for all of us! Randy gets a handsome reward for being the first 'dog' at the scene. Steve gets a reward for being the first 'human' at the scene. As for my three special guard dogs, Mickey, Butch, and Tony, you'll receive double-servings of food and cool bottled water for an entire month.
Furthermore, I'll also give you another gift. This gift will be of your choosing; assuming that your request is reasonable.
I want to congratulate the men and women who worked diligently, and tirelessly, to capture the mongrel-head. Next time, we shall be better prepared. With bigger spotlights and better communication equipment, no creature will even dream about escaping,' said the Administrator.
“Mandy, our comrade our comrade was paraded throughout the entire puppy mill. Not a single shed was forgotten. Our comrade was seen by every human and animal in the puppy mill.
After parading our comrade, the PMWs got down to business. Two burly PMW's untied our comrade. Afterwards, they dropped him onto the ground. The Administrator was eying their every move. Apparently, he enjoyed seeing our comrade being dropped to the ground. He laughed his brains out. He surely had a sickly sense of humor.
Because the Administrator was seated in an 'announcer's booth', he could see what was happening to our comrade. Furthermore, he had a microphone in his hand.
After the Administrator finished his 'guffawing spell', he left the announcer's booth. A short while later, the animals observed him approaching the scene.
As soon as the Administrator arrived at the scene, he snarled at our comrade then spat on him. Afterwards, he ordered all of the PMWs to come.
The Administrator ordered an obese PMW to tie a noose around our comrade's neck. We instinctively knew what was about to happen.
Indeed, the Administrator wanted us to see the painful punishment for an attempted escape,” said Timmy.
“Thank you, honey. Now, I can set an example for the 'creatures' in this facility!” shouted the Administrator.
The Administrator tightened the noose around our comrade's neck. This caused our comrade to gasp for air; to no avail. His oxygen supply was now seriously compromised.
In an act of brazen brutality and sadism, the Administrator ordered the PMWs to ensure that every single animal at the puppy mill had a good view of what was happening,” said Timmy.
“You guys and gals must bring every single cage in this entire freaking facility to the open space in front of me. There will be a freaky show tonight. A real beauty, I must say!
Place 'them' in circular form. I want every single creature in this facility to see the show!” shouted the Administrator.
“Mandy, it took an hour to get all of the cages in place. The show wasn't really a show. It was a stern warning to the other animals.
What was to come was an act of utter monstrosity. If our comrade had known, he wouldn’t have made an escape attempt.
The Administrator roughly turned our hero onto his side then he pressed his right foot against the side of our comrade's head.
To add insult to injury, the administrator laughed up a storm. Apparently, some people find acts of cruelty against animals humorous.
None of us could lift a paw, or a tooth, in our comrade's defense. In other words, we couldn't do anything.
After thirty seconds of continuous bone-crushing-pressure on our comrade's head, the Administrator removed his foot. It wasn't done out of mercy. The Administrator wanted to escalate the punishment.
After snarling at the puppy mill animals, the Administrator untied the noose from our Comrade's neck," said Timmy.
While Timmy was narrating his story to my mother, his tears became more intense and 'faster-flowing'. He began to weep like a little child. My mother comforted him in the best way she could. Given the circumstances, it wasn't enough.
“Timmy, please don't cry. It's all over. Whatever happened to your comrade is history. Cheer up! We'll be out of this pathetic place, very soon. I'm certain that a nice family will adopt you,” said my mother.
Timmy took a twenty minute break from his story. My mother tried whatever was possible to comfort her new friend.
"After the Administrator placed a 'special noose' around our comrade's neck, he lifted him off the ground. Our comrade tried to stand on his hind legs, but couldn't.
Our comrade was gasping for air. Considering the noose contained countless spikes on it, our comrade had no chance of resisting. Nobody can imagine how terrible our comrade's predicament was.
The Administrator put on a gruesome show," said Timmy.
“Hey! Guess what? This is the 'helicopter method'! It's used to 'toughen-up' creatures. Well, I'm not trying to toughenup this creature! I only want him to pay dearly for trying to escape from 'my facility'.
Furthermore, I want you-all to see the terrible consequences of an attempted escape. You creatures are money machines!” shouted the Administrator.
"Our comrade's eyes bulged out. So much so, they looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. Also, his tongue tangled to the side, and drool began to dribble and dangle from his mouth. He kind of looked like those dogs in China that are being processed as food.
Worse was to come. The Administrator, a very powerful man, bounced our comrade like a yo-yo. In addition, he made several 360's, to ensure that all of the PMW's and animals could see what was happening.
Mandy, I couldn't have imagined that such horror existed! The Administrator was a ruthless monster.
When our comrade was on the verge of dying, the Administrator dropped him onto the ground. Then, he ordered a PMW to until the special noose from our comrade's neck.
Afterwards, the PMW was ordered to return the noose to the Administrator's office. Why? So it could be used again, again, and again.
The Administrator casually walked back to the staff building, as though he was returning home from a barbecue.
I kept a close eye on the Administrator, looking for signs of remorse. Actually, right before he entered the staff building, he waved a high-five to the PMWs looking at him. I guess he was flabbergasted by the big catch.
Several PMWs proceeded to return most of the cages back to their respective places. They took their time. I guess they wanted us to sweat a little.
The PMWs were ordered to leave fifteen cages near our dying comrade. Unfortunately, I was in one of those cages. I was forced to see the sad truth of it all.
We were horrified and saddened by the spectacle. Each of us was trying to run an imaginary scenario in our heads. Trying to imagine what would happen if we were actually able to escape.
Our comrade tried to get up and plead with the PMWs; without any success.
We cried for our beloved comrade, and also for ourselves. I became aware that we were residents of a bestial concentration camp. Bestial concentration camps are not human concentration camps. I must insist that animals and humans understand this.
Furthermore, I don't like to compare one with the other. Let's leave it at that.
Many of the animals in this hell-hole will eventually be sold. Sadly, a good percentage of them will never forget their horrific ordeal. In essence, all of the puppy mill animals were lifers. The memory stays with you, always!
The animals in the fifteen cages were given better food and water. In addition, our cages were cleaned daily. We were stunned by the 'better treatment'.
It took us three days to figure out what was happening. We were told point blank: eat-up, drink-up, and smile! Or else, you'll taste a more bitter fate than the mongrel-head.
Our comrade was going nuts. He was forced to see us living in cleaned cages, and well-fed and hydrated. Our comrade broke down,” said Timmy.
“Please, help me! I need food, water, and medical attention, immediately! You can't be that cold and cruel. Please, I just want to live a normal life. I promise that I'll never try to escape again. In fact, I'll be a model inmate,' said our comrade.
“Mandy, our comrade's 'pleadings' went unanswered. There seemed to be no such thing as mercy and love in that hell-hole. The only thing that received undivided attention and respect was the almighty dollar.
Our comrade died the following evening. The animals in the puppy mill mourned for their beloved comrade. I knew that one day I'd have to leave. Otherwise, I too, would go nuts!
As we were weeping, five PMWs carrying ice water approached us. Then, they tossed all of the ice water on the loudest weeper.
The poor dog fell over onto her right side. She was out cold for roughly an hour. A dead silence fell upon the animals. That's how horrified we were.
The PMWs stared-down the fifteen animals placed near the scene. The 'stared-down-animals' lowered their heads then defecated. No dog or cat dared challenge the PMWs. That was a given.
Decomposition set in. Our comrade's body was beginning to rot and wither away. Flies, maggots, fleas, and whatever else could have a free meal, appeared on our comrade. Our comrade, who was once a hero, became a free buffet for tiny creatures.
A terrible stench began to emanate from our comrade's carcass. Soon, it became a gagging stench. Indeed it was smellier than a squirt from a skunk!
The 'witnesses' couldn't walk away or ignore the stench. Every single dog and cat in the area would be affected for life. Our scars would run very deep.
These common atrocities are hidden from public view. Well, I hope someday the general public will become more aware of the happenings in many puppy mills. Thereafter, the public can begin to apply pressure on public figures. This will get the job done.
Our comrade's carcass was left to rot for several days. Then, it was hauled off to a special location. This way, nobody on the outside would ever know.
Apparently, the PMWs were ordered to take the black garbage bag containing our comrade's carcass deep into the forest for burial. The large hole in the black bag would ensure a continuous decomposition of the carcass. In effect, the evidence would disappear.
Mandy, as the weeks turned into months, my health began to deteriorate. The lack of sufficient food, water, happiness, and anything good, were taking their toll on me.
At one point, I assumed that death was just around the corner. I began to count the seconds, wishing that time would pass by at a faster rate. I wanted to die!
Once, when I was counting the seconds and listening to my stomach growl, a barrel-sized PMW entered our shed then he approached my cage. I was apprehensive about the prospect of a 'GIANT MONSTER' getting too close to me. I really didn't like it!
The PMW didn't bother to remove me from my cage. He carried my cage, with one arm then continued to walk away. For a moment, I thought about biting one of his fingers, then trying to squeeze through the cage bars. Afterwards, I'd run like hell!
After thinking about this option for a moment, I came to the conclusion that it wouldn't work. I wouldn't know where to run to. Even if I had escaped, survival would've been almost impossible.
The next three days were a complete blank. I think that the PMWs did something horrible to me. Or, maybe, I saw something horrible,' said Timmy.
After she was returned to the breeding shed, my mother did nothing for the next several weeks, but cry her brains out. Boy, did she want to return to that beautiful mansion that she'd once lived in. Not to mention, the beautiful family that she'd belonged to.
“Mandy, we're going to show you your new husband. You've got very good genes, tenacity, and cuteness. These are attributes that we need in our breeding facility.
Some nitwit placed you in the wrong shed. You belong in the PREMIUM BREEDERS' SHED! Special cats and dogs aren't supposed to be placed inside this shed,' said a young PMW,” said a PMW.
It was terrible. My mother couldn’t do anything! She was helpless!
After being taken to the special shed, my mother was placed inside a large cage. She understood very well that it was the end of her 'virgin life'. Thereafter, she’d be an 'induced harlot', of a sort.
My mother understood that after the first mounting, she'd have to grow up very fast. However, my mother had a trick or two up her sleeve. For instance, she knew how to 'de-heat' herself. Would it be enough to turn off the stud? As was later to become apparent, she was dead wrong.
Day after day, it was the same ole' routine. My mother's cat sisters were mounted by tom cats that had nothing on their mind but their own satisfaction. Thankfully, all of them weren't that way. One Tom cat, named Jerry, didn't feel like appeasing his human captors.
Jerry's decision was a fatal error. A PMW, along with Dr. Bracey, the new veterinarian, entered the special shed, late in the evening. They quickly walked over to Jerry's cage.
Afterwards, Dr. Bracey ordered a PMW to open Jerry's cage, then to grab the 'nitwit' by the neck, with a strangle hold.
The PMW did as she was told. Jerry was tackled to the ground using a terrible neck hold. Then, Dr. Bracey injected Jerry with a very potent drug. Instantly, Jerry's behavior changed. He became euphoric. Shortly afterwards, another PMW brought in a 'heated cat'. Immediately, Jerry ran to the heated cat then began to mount her. He moved like a lion.
My mother witnessed the entire episode. She now understood that resistance was useless. She had to accept whatever her captors threw at her. No questions asked.
Breeding bitches are almost always overworked, often beginning their work at a very young age. When they can no longer 'function,' they may be sold to a biomedical lab, chopped-up and given to the other inmates as food (rendered meat), or taken out to the forest and shot.
High class dog fanciers can afford to send frozen sperm samples to far-off areas. It's expensive, but effective. No mounting. Unfortunately, purebreds often have genetic problems.
The Administrator would've sold a puppy mill animal to an alien from another galaxy; as long as the alien paid for the animal.
For the following week, my mother received increased food rations. She suspected that her food was tainted with something. Furthermore, she was sick the whole week. Well, you can't be happy living in a penitentiary. Can you?
On the eighth day, the Administrator ordered that my mother be mounted by a select Tom cat. She put up a very good fight. So good, the PMWs left her shed in astonishment.
Unfortunately, it was too good to be true. After defying the orders of the Administrator to perform, my mother was deprived of food, water, and milk, for three whole days.
On the third day, my mother began to drool without any letup. Even thinking about dirt made her hungry.
At a calculated moment, a PMW entered the special shed then placed a large bowl of milk inside her cage. My mother was too famished to determine whether the milk was tainted or not.
After she emptied the bowl's contents, a sudden feeling of drowsiness hit her. A couple of minutes later, she felt weak, and somewhat incoherent. That's when it happened. Several PMWs rushed into the special shed; one of them was carrying a Tom cat in his left hand.
My mother had been drugged. No doubt, her captors had had experience with defiant kitties, like my mother.
My mother never blamed herself for the mistake she'd made. She was in need of nourishment. You have to be in her shoes to understand what she felt like.
Before my mother realized what was happening, she found herself being mounted by one tom cat after another. After the seventh one, she went blank.
The train-style-mounting had a two-fold purpose: first, to breed kitties; second, to punish my mother for being defiant.
Unfortunately, there was yet another shocker. As the days passed, my mother began to feel as though there was a separate entity inside of her.
It wasn't until weeks later that she'd realized what had happened. There were 'developing kitties' inside her, waiting to be let-out. What kind of life were my mother’s kitties going to have?
We kept growing and growing inside my mother. My mother's stomach distended until it could no longer expand. In fact, my mother's stomach was 'over-distended'. She'd been given powerful drugs to enhance her pregnancy.
My mother reminded told me that as soon as we were born, Dr. Bracey examined us, with his wicked hands and cold instruments. She wanted to ensure the administrator that the kitties were profitable. Her behavior was based on greed, not love.
I was also told by my mother that only a week later, four of my siblings died. They were too young to be without their mommy. You see, I was the only one left with my mommy. It seemed like my mother's problems were increasing, geometrically.
For some reason, I can't remember those terrible days. I don't even remember when I first opened my eyes. It’s strange but true.
My mother was intelligent enough to feel the evil engulfing Camp Puppy Mill. Kitties and puppies were being snatched from their rightful mothers, too early. Never mind, their fathers.
However, most of the fathers at Camp Puppy Mill either didn't give a damn about their progeny, or hardly cared, but didn't want to show it. There were a few fathers who blew their stack. They didn't want 'their progeny' to be snatched away from their rightful mothers.
As was the case throughout Camp Puppy Mill, not a single animal dared an attempt at stopping the kitten/puppy 'snatchings'. They were so 'de-animalized', it was pitiful!
Meanwhile, my mother's mind and body began to crumble. Sadly, my mother looked like a total wreck; even developing psychosomatic disorders. It was terrible! Her bones, muscles, internal organs, and head, were engulfed in pain.
Then, on a cold, windy Friday morning, in the month of January, the administrator, two PMWs, and Dr. Bracey, entered our shed. They scanned the area with their menacing eyes then stared at me for a good thirty seconds.
Strangely, they mistook me (Jody Wilson) for my mother. Well, that mistake helped alter the entire course of history; as you shall see later in my book.
Sadly, I was removed from my mother's cage, clear out to a special shed for rejects. I never saw my mother again. I never forgot her.
EXIT CAMP PUPPY MILL
"Hey, look at that sickly-looking cat! That bimbo's been here far too long. We've already sold her kitties. We certainly can't get anything out of her, anymore! Let's try to sell her to a biomedical lab, or to an animal fighting trainer.
I'll wait until Monday morning before attempting to sell her. We'll go at it for a week. If we can't sell this bimbo, then we'll have to kill her. This is a place of business, not a daycare center for dogs and cats!" shouted the administrator.
"Hey, boss ... can't we just toss her, like ... somewhere deep inside the forest? I mean, like … nobody will miss her. Cats can survive in forests, can't they?" asked a PMW.
"As long as the 'origin' of this cat isn't brought to the attention of the authorities, I don't give a crap what happens to her! If the police ever find out we're stealing companion animals from their rightful owners, we'll end up like these incarcerated creatures," replied the administrator.
Under the present circumstances, escape was practically impossible. The place was built like a prison. We needed a 'gigantic' change, or diversion.
As our luck had it, that very evening, an incredibly terrifying thunderstorm swept the area. It looked like Missouri was about to drown in its own rain!
The winds picked up, creating a series of terrifying whistling sounds. We heard branches, doors, and other objects being 'manhandled' by powerful winds. The animals were worried that the 'two-bit-walls' of the sheds would wobble then collapse on them.
Our worst nightmare came true! The walls of one shed after another began to collapse. Many of the animals were crushed to death. Unfortunately, only a few died instantly. The screams of pain and terror swept through the entire area. Believe me, it was our version of the Titanic!
At least one PMW was injured. He'd broken an arm, a leg, and his neck. I couldn't have cared less.
"Listen- up, I don't want anyone out there to know how or where this man was injured! It's a matter of protecting my 'profitable enterprise'.
Take Victor to the General hospital. Tell the nurse on duty that you saw Mickey strewn across the street while you were driving away from the thunderstorm. Also, tell the nurse that there was a large branch beside him. It'll look like the branch fell on Mickey while he was walking on the shoulder of the road.
If you're questioned about the location of 'the incident', tell the nurse that visibility was poor.
You can also tell the nurse that the rain was poking your eyes; compromising your vision problems," said the
The Administrator didn't care about anyone, but himself. Meanwhile, our shed's infrastructure was being compromised. It looked like our shed was going to collapse; very soon. In addition, rain was 'creeping' into our shed.
As if things couldn't have gotten any worse. A PMW closed our shed door then locked it. The puppy mill staff was worried about multiple escape attempts. They were bailing out on us.
Miraculously, a bitch Collie managed to push her cage door open. Indeed, it was an incredible feat! The other animals in our shed tried to do likewise. Unfortunately, their attempts were futile. The locks on some of the cages were new and extremely formidable. On others cages, the locks were very old and rusty.
I tried to open my cage door. After the fifth attempt, I gave up. A short while later my cage door began to 'jiggle' violently. It seemed like the thunderstorm was increasing in ferocity.
I started pouncing on my cage door, as a leopard pounces on its prey. My hard work paid off! The cage door swung open. I ended up landing several feet away from my cage. Another foot and I would've smashed into the cage parallel to my own.
I took one last look at my pathetic cage. It was an awful mess. I saw fecal matter, urine, dirt, mud, and insects, in that pathetic hell-hole. I shook my body; wanting to rid myself of dirty matter.
Afterwards, I scanned the area. Sickness, fear, anxiety, pain, agony, apprehension, and death, had engulfed our cages. The trapped animals in our shed understood that their hours were numbered.
I waded through water that was several inches high, in order to make at least one attempt at helping another animal. I noticed a cat that had the scars and bruises of abuse imprinted on her face and body. I figured, she'd had enough pain and suffering in her life.
I tried my hardest to pick the lock on her cage. For the moment, I'd wished there was an orangutan around. They're awesome at picking locks.
The cat eyed me for a few seconds then fell onto her right side. I squeezed part of my face through the bars of her cage. I licked her face several times. Then, I pulled my head back. It was useless.
Her tongue dangled to the side. After making a lethargic attempt at getting up, she fell over. That was the end of our short friendship.
Although I was saddened by her death, my own predicament called for immediate action. In other words, I had to take care of myself, first. An innocent cat had died before my very own eyes! She was an inmate like me. I certainly didn't want to end up like her.
I understood that the world could be a very cruel place. It seemed like justice has gone on an indefinite vacation.
The bitch Collie called out to me. It appeared as though she wanted to comfort me. Indeed, she'd seen the sad spectacle.
I took one last look at the deceased cat. I wanted the image of her face to be imprinted in my head.
I approached the bitch Collie, hoping that she had an escape plan. With the only visible exit bolted shut, it looked like we were finished.
As I was approaching the bitch Collie, I caught a reflection with the corner of my eye. A window! After taking a close look at the window, I noticed that it was slightly ajar.
Looking back at the bitch Collie, I noticed that she had a look of defeat in her eyes. It was a terrible sight, indeed.
My question was answered. The bitch Collie had a terrible wound in her abdomen. She couldn't have escaped even if she'd wanted to.
I got close enough to rub the side of my face against her foreleg. Then, I turned and walked away.
With one swift move, I leaped onto the window panel. Alas, freedom was beneath my paws!
The opening through the window was just big enough to allow a beautiful cat, like myself, to squeeze through. A Bitch Collie wouldn't be able to squeeze through.
The bitch Collie pooped then slithered to a corner of the shed. She'd have to stay there until the very end. The shed was slowly flooding, causing the other animals to cry out in desperation. I had to give them some good advice before I left.
"Fellows exercise faith and patience!" I yelled.
"Thanks for the good advice. You've cheered us up! We'll be patient and faithful," responded a hidden mouse.
Finally, the bitch Collie spoke to me.
"Kitty, my name is Tammy. I was sold by my drunken owner. The 'incident' occurred in the middle of the night.
I must've been shot with a tranquilizer dart. I would've never allowed my former drunken owner to sell me to a buncher.
I didn't see it coming. My owner set up a good security system on his property. You see, we lived in a posh
In this hell-hole, I'm just a super-bitch. Sure, I got to 'befriend' the biggest and healthiest dogs around. But, I don't like to be used by anyone. Do you know what I mean? Not to mention having my freedom snatched from me.
Please, don't delay your escape on our account. I hear several PMWs approaching our shed.
Good luck! Be cautious! Always keep an eye out for hostile humans. Remember, accidents can happen at any time. Always look in all directions before you cross the street. Road kill causes the deaths of bazillions of innocent animals every single year.
Never give a human, or an animal one hundred percent of your trust. Sometimes, even blood kin, or close friends, can stab you in the back."
"Wait, please give me good advice! I need a game plan. Where do I go and how do I get there?" I asked.
"I'll make this quick. When you leave the puppy mill grounds head north for approximately five miles. There, you'll see railroad tracks near a large green shed. The shed will be near a pond.
The tracks are owned by the Iron Horse Corporation (IHC). Fortunately, there's a stop located in the vicinity. A train will stop there once every four hours, around the clock. You must head northeast, to New England.
A friend of mine once lived there. He liked it up north. I'm trying to give you the best advice possible. My life's nearly over.
Kitty, you're young and cute. You have a long life ahead of you.
Remember, your deadliest enemies will be the dreaded VCOs. They can't be trusted. Their job is to take you in, at whatever cost. As far as you're concerned, they're your worst nightmare.
VCOs will chase you down like a prey animal. These people are ferocious predators. Don't be fooled by their bait, or sinister smiles. Sometimes they carry dart guns. This is a dead giveaway," said the bitch Collie.
After thanking the bitch Collie for the good advice, I leaped onto the ground then I left that stinking hell-hole of a puppy mill.
The horrific thunderstorm made it difficult for me to see. Visibility was terrible, and raindrops were poking my eyes.
It felt like I was slowly swimming on land. With my head down, and eyes barely open, I was desperate to find a good resting place.
Luckily, I bumped into a large tree. A large swath of the fence had been destroyed in the thunderstorm, thereby causing it to collapse onto the ground.
While trying to scale the large tree, I was brutally knocked to the ground by heavy winds. Thankfully, I landed on all fours, without sustaining any injuries.
I walked a bit more then bumped into another tree. However, this time I was very lucky. This tree had three gigantic branches that were dangling towards the ground. Furthermore, its twigs and leafs were very large.
I ended up crouched underneath one of the large branches. Indeed, I was unable to move, see, or hear anything, but the terrifying thunderstorm. It was as though it had come to life. It really seemed like the thunderstorm was getting personal with me.
For three whole hours, I had to endure high winds, heavy rain, and terror. As a result, I froze like a Popsicle I didn't dare leave my safety zone. Actually, I couldn't have left my safety zone, even if I'd wanted to.
As soon as the thunderstorm subsided, several PMWs appeared out of nowhere. They began to haul their 'priceless inmates', to a more secure place. These priceless inmates were the cream of the crop for breeding. Never mind the other animals. They'd have to wait until the breeders were secure, first.
Sadly, the low-grade animals were duly ignored. Those who survived the thunderstorm would have lifelong scars to deal with.
Miraculously, I was the only animal who'd escaped from Camp Puppy Mill. In the end, it was my own skin that I had to worry about. Everyone else was number two, or lower.
I carefully crept out of my safety zone, one step at a time. I couldn't take any chances being seen by a PMW, or an envious animal.
Henceforth, I was on my own. My immediate concern was finding the railroad tracks. In all the confusion, I'd forgotten about my mother. I couldn't blame myself. Although I loved her dearly, I think she didn't make it. She was so miserable and sickly-looking. Mommy, if you can hear me: I'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU!
I decided to walk to the railroad tracks at a slow, but steady pace. I placed myself on red alert then scanned the area with my incredible feline eyes. I was on the lookout for any sign of danger.
Roughly an hour later, what appeared to be the sound of a train passing by the area caught my attention. Until hearing the sound of that train, I was a bit spaced out. Yes, even cats space out, sometimes. I hate it when humans think that cats never space out. They think that we don't fantasize, or wish for anything spectacular.
Instantly, I ran in the direction of the train. I ended up running into a tree, head first. Luckily, there were no other cats around. Otherwise, I would have become the laughing stalk of my species. Thereafter, I made sure to watch where I was going at all times. Exhausted as I was, I couldn't postpone any opportunities.
Jeepers! Creepers! There wasn't a train in sight! I was suffering from a case of 'auditory mirage'. I was so exhausted, stressed out, and outright bamboozled by life, the sound of a train approaching was a lifesaver. Although it wasn't there, my mind used it as an 'uplifting mechanism'. Maybe, I would've gone mad if I hadn't heard the fake train sound.
I don't mean to get all 'Dr. Cat' on you, but, felines can also suffer from stress overload. My biggest problem was the puppy mill.
Just to make sure, I searched through the area for tracks; to no avail.
Gosh, I didn't want to believe it. But, it was true. Tammy, the bitch Collie, had lied to me. No doubt, she was envious of me. I got to leave the puppy mill. She didn't.
I could never do that to anyone. It's beneath me. She took advantage of me!
By early afternoon, the sun had risen to an awesome display of beauty. Indeed, it evolved into a calm and beautiful day. Like many of those in Vancouver. For the time being, there'd be no more thunderstorms.
After discovering Tammy's terrible lie, it became apparent that her 'other advice' was suspect. I certainly wasn't heading north, to New England. Maybe, there were super VCOs in that part of our country.
Now, I was famished beyond belief. I was afraid that my body was getting ready to eat itself from the inside out. In desperation, I scanned the area, searching for someone or something that alleviate my suffering.
Eureka! I saw a row of houses about a mile west of my present location. I assumed that further down, there'd be a town or a small city. Although I was happy to see the houses, it would be a very lethargic walk for me. I was exhausted.
As I approached the houses, they appeared larger and larger. My desperation allowed me to notice things that would've been brushed aside under normal circumstances. Don't worry; I didn't lose my knowledge of size constancy. I wasn't that out of it. Only dumb humans and dumb animals don't understand the concept of size constancy. Of course, I'm not including the very young.
In all, there were seven houses on the crest of the hill. As soon as I got to the crest of the hill, I noticed a small city of perhaps 70,000 thousand inhabitants. The core of the city was a few miles away. Perhaps, the residents of the houses were related to each other.
Quickly, I pictured myself drinking milk, eating fish, and licking clean, cool water from a beautiful all-American home. I was still in Missouri. The friendly mid-western hospitality was still in the air. Of course, my guard would never be let-down. Evil humans and dangerous animals are scattered across our entire planet. Because I wasn't a human being, caution would be the first step in becoming a resident of the town.
Before I proceeded any further, I scanned the area, searching for a town sign. Eureka! The town sign read: HANSONVILLE, MISSOURI. To my utter shock, it was right behind me.
Thankfully, I backtracked several steps, out of curiosity. I had to know what the sign read. Well, this is a case of curiosity helping the cat. I was very thankful there weren't any other cats nearby. Otherwise, I would've been nicknamed 'Dummy'. I wasn't going to tell anyone about my silly mistake, except for you. Cats that are on the alert understand the importance of signs.
The name Hudsonville relaxed me. It's a name that projects an image of a quiet place, with friendly inhabitants; a place where people raise their young to be good citizens. No doubt, many of the residents of Hudsonville owned companion animals. I just wanted to be one of those lucky critters!
I walked past the row of houses, straight to the city. As soon as I entered Hudsonville city limits, I directed my walk towards a neighborhood with the scent of hamburger looming in the air. If I'd been a lion all of the hamburger would've been mine. I can't explain to you how good animal flesh tastes. I know many humans eat meat, but, they're not built to enjoy raw meat: drippy blood, bones, skin, tendons, flesh, and entrails. I drool whenever I think of it.
I crossed Maple Boulevard, into Norton Street. Norton Street was very long, clean, and uppity. This was the kind of place a cat could enjoy him/herself.
Before I knew it, I was on the lawn of a house located at 1440 S. Norton Street. There were dozens of men, women, and children, chomping down on juicy hamburgers. A few of them were eating double burgers. Jeepers, what a delicacy!
The people who were eating on the lawn were quite fond of each other. I could tell by their demeanor. But, I had more pressing problems at hand. For one thing, I was salivating like a rabid dog. Really, that's how freaking hungry I was!
In a calculated move, I scanned each and every person, seeking out the friendliest one amongst them. This is the man or woman who'd feed me well.
I spotted a young blond who was wearing a lovely red dress. Although she seemed like a nice person, she also looked like a street walker. I didn't want to end up living with a harlot. So, I had a sudden change of heart.
I was suddenly diverted from my gaze, by an elderly man. Perhaps he was in his mid-seventies. His hair was gray and white, and combed back. He had a fresh bite mark on his neck. Initially, I became suspect. The bites were made by another human.
The elderly man took notice of me gawking at him. He cautiously approached me then introduced himself.
"Hello, young kitty. I'm Dr. Randal Forrester. What's your name?"
"My name is Jody Wilson. I'm from Missouri. I'm looking for a good human friend, who'll take me in as a member of his family. I'm very intelligent, athletic, cute, wonderful, and incredibly awesome. I'm sure that there are humans around who'd give an arm and a leg to have a cat like me in their household."
"Well, I'm looking for a good cat! Would you like to live in my home?" asked Dr. Forrester.
"I sure as hell would! No cat in her right mind could turn down an invitation like that! Oops! Sorry for my language. You must understand! Please, I need to feel secure. Also, I need to be a member of a good North American family!
Is there a catch? Do I have to jump through flaming hoops? Can I be a full-fledged member of your family? What kind of doctor are you?" I asked.
"I'm a criminal/forensic psychologist. I'm a part-time professor at Hudsonville College. I spend the rest of my time writing articles in journals pertaining to psychology, criminology, and criminal justice. I prefer to work solo," said Dr. Forrester.
Dr. Forrester introduced me to several of his friends.
After the introductions, Dr. Forrester placed a large slab of raw hamburger on a paper plate then placed it beside me.
As soon as I began to munch down on the hamburger, Dr. Forrester went to a makeshift wash basin. He washed his hands then dried them.
A short while later, Dr. Forrester placed a bowl of milk, and a bowl of water, beside me. Afterwards, he took several steps back.
Dr. Forrester seemed like a swell guy. I was hoping that he had a sweet wife at home. That way, I'd have two good friends, instead of just one.
Dr. Forrester left me for fifteen minutes. As soon as he returned, he pointed to his gray van. He carried me into his van then began his drive home.
We arrived at Dr. Forrester's home a short while later. His domicile was located at 1300 Wilmington Street. It was a decent house, suitable for an upper middle class family. I figured Dr. Forrester made big bucks.
Dr. Forrester parked his gray van in his garage then turned off the ignition. Afterwards, he grinned at me. I returned the favor.
Although I was happy to have a new home, my feline senses were sending me mild danger signals. While in the gray van, I scented 'faint human blood'. I knew that it wasn't from a minor nose bleed. I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Maybe I was being a bit paranoid.
Upon entering Dr. Forrester's house, he waved me over to one of the bedrooms. I followed him like his own shadow.
There was a litter box near the bedroom closet. It was too good to be true! Well, I wasn't exactly complaining. So, I thanked Dr. Forrester then leaped onto my new litter box.
Although I sensed that it had recently been occupied, it was clean. I figured Dr. Forrester had owned a cat that had recently died. I didn't want to ask too many questions. So, I stayed quiet about this matter.
For the following six weeks, things went just fine. Dr. Forrester was a gentleman. He seemed so at ease with me. But, I had my suspicions. Dr. Forrester would often return home in the middle of the night, carrying a slight scent of human blood.
Also, he'd never been married. A man deep into his seventies who'd never been married? I mean, as far as I knew, he was as straight as a ruler.
My mild suspicions proved correct. On Saturday the 12th of December, I found out what kind of 'monster' Dr. Forrester really was. To be precise, it occurred at 11:45 P.M. I was rudely awakened by the sound of shattering glass.
Dr. Forrester had inadvertently knocked over a large pitcher while he was slithering into his home. This time, I decided to investigate.
This episode caused me to remember something very sad. Years ago, in Iowa, two guys decided to illegally enter a man's property, with the intent to smash the heads and bodies of countless cats. In case you're wondering what the tools of attack were: baseball bats, and whatever else. The poor kitties were absolutely defenseless.
This was a premeditated and sadistic act. As usual, the judge slapped them on their wrists, as though it was a minor mistake.
I decided to be very careful in my investigation. At the same time, I had to find out what was going on.
Like a leopard in the dead of night, I stealthily left my bedroom. I was so careful, even the house bugs couldn't have detected my movements. One step at a time, I approached the target area. As I got closer, the scent of death became overwhelming. Suddenly, it hit me like a ton of bricks! Blood, rotting flesh, and outright evil, had engulfed me.
As soon as I entered the living room, I scanned the area. I found no one there. As I was pondering about my next move, I was startled by a sudden thumping noise. It came from the kitchen.
I went to the kitchen, only to find the basement door wide open. I heard the thumping noise again, coming from downstairs. I decided to descend the stairwell.
When I got to the basement floor, I saw Dr. Forrester rip open a black garbage bag encasing a cadaver. I was shocked!
I stayed put, because I didn't want Dr. Forrester to take notice of me. I took a step to my right, in order to get a birds-eye view of what was happening. With that movement, I not only contradicted my initial intent, but screwed-up my covert presence.
I'd inadvertently stepped on a loose piece of wood, causing it to crunch. My mistake instantly caught the attention of Dr. Forrester.
"Hey, who the hell is that? I demand to freaking know ... right now! I'm armed and extremely dangerous! I'll destroy you in a flash! I'm not kidding!" shouted Dr. Forrester.
There was nothing to do but stand in the light then hope for mercy. After glancing at Dr. Forrester, I caught notice of the partially hidden cadaver. The victim was a tall woman, with auburn-colored hair. She would've been at least six feet tall when she was living.
It looked like Dr. Forrester had kidnapped the young woman. He probably tricked her into getting into his van then he strangled her to death. I could see slightly faded hand marks around the woman's throat. To know for sure, I'd have to find out from the murderer himself.
"Jody, come here! Jody, please don't be afraid of me! I want you to be by my side! Please, be patient with me, while I carry this slab-of-meat onto the operating table. You see, I'd always wanted to be a forensic pathologist," said Dr. Forrester.
Even though I almost gagged from the horrific scent of the cadaver, I went ahead and obliged Dr. Forrester. I couldn't escape, even if I'd wanted to. Dr. Forrester had a gun in his holster. Not to mention, the other deadly weapons hanging on the walls of the basement. By golly, he must've had a hundred weapons in his basement.
Dr. Forrester's basement looked like a dungeon from the Dark Ages; containing three shovels, two axes, hammer, bowie knife, surgical instruments, screws, a vice, operating table, a bottle of the capitulation drug, overhead light, chainsaw, and a surgical kit. All ready for use. I didn't have to ponder about what the chainsaw was for.
"Jody, I don't want you to think that I'm a lunatic! I won't punish a woman, unless she deserves to be punished. Rarely, do I ever punish a man, or an animal. The only females I can handle are from your species. I can't even handle canine bitches!
Jody, you don't know what it feels like. I mean, I see these 'evil creatures' who call themselves human. They hurt my feelings, so, I punish them! You'd do the same thing if you were in my shoes, wouldn't you?
Jody, promise not to tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, okay," requested Dr. Forrester.
"Dr. Forrester, I promise not to tell anyone what you are about to tell me," I responded.
"In my prime, I did this kind of ‘work’ three or four times a month. See, I'm what those lunatic criminologists call a transient serial killer. I love that ‘title’.
I want to be like my heroes; Dahmer, Gacey, Son of Sam, Panzram, The Vampire of Dusseldorf, The Alligator Man, Fish, Bundy, Jack the Ripper, and countless others. Too bad, there aren't that many women on this list. You see, they can't make the grade!" exclaimed Dr. Forrester.
"Dr. Forrester, are you a virgin?" I asked.
Instantly, Dr. Forrester's demeanor changed. I saw the real Mr. Hyde in him. Boy was it terrifying!
"Who the freaking hell are you? You can’t ask me that kind of question? Maybe, I should chop you up then feed you to the German shepherd next door! Would you like that?" asked Dr. Forrester.
"No, I didn't mean to provoke, or anger you. I was kind of wondering. Cats are natural suspicious beings," I said.
"During my childhood years, I often fantasized that I was Jack the Ripper. Boy, did it make me feel good. Now, I've just added another trophy to my collection.
If you tell anyone what I just told you, I'll skin you alive. Afterwards, I'll toss you into that barrel. In case you're wondering, all of the barrels in my basement contain lime. You'll slowly sizzle to death. Got it?" asked Dr. Forrester.
I played along with Dr. Forrester's weird game. I didn't want him to turn on me. Unfortunately, I had to watch Dr. Forrester chop-up the cadaver, piece by piece. Then he tossed slabs of flesh into the barrel. Boy, did it sizzle!
After Dr. Forrester finished his business, he went to the restroom. Meanwhile, I was ordered to stay put, or else.
I froze, unable to think of what to do. It was so bad, I thought my legs were about to turn into rubber bands.
When Dr. Forrester returned, I followed him upstairs. On my way up, I thought of how I, a cat, would re-mold Dr. Forrester into a better person. I figured it would take a year, or two.
As time passed, I really thought that we were making progress. Three months went by without Dr. Forrester committing another heinous crime.
On the first day of the fourth month, Dr. Forrester asked me to come along with him on a short trip. He claimed to have some important business to finish.
I suspected that Dr. Forrester was getting ready for another 'criminal charade'. In order to slither out, I dropped onto my side then played sick. Luckily, Dr. Forrester fell for it. If he hadn't I would've been in deep manure.
Dr. Forrester began to go out on nightly ventures. Luckily, he didn't ask me to tag along. Then, on a beautiful Saturday evening, Dr. Forrester drove his van to an undisclosed location. He brought along his tool box. It was a clear sign that he was on the prowl. By now, I knew that I had to act. There was no telling when that creep was returning home.
Luckily, there was a German shepherd next door. I decided to visit him then tell my entire story. I was hoping that the German shepherd was an honorable person.
I exited Dr. Forrester's house, then walked to the house next door. Upon arrival, I noticed that the German shepherd was sleeping.
I pounded my paws on the lawn, in order to awaken the German shepherd. It worked.
As soon as the German shepherd awakened, he growled at me. I had to act quickly, or else, face some serious consequences.
I cautiously approached the German shepherd, until getting within spitting distance of his muzzle. There, I rubbed the side of my head against his right foreleg. Afterwards, I began to speak to him in an open and frank manner.
"Hi, my name is Jody Wilson. Please, I need your help! I must notify the authorities about Dr. Forrester! He's a very dangerous monster! Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?" I asked.
"Yes, I understand you quite well. Although I've suspected Dr. Forrester of doing evil things, I needed proof. I won't go on a witch hunt, until I'm certain of the facts.
By the way, my name is Greg Palter, and I won't waste my precious time on a lie."
After conveying my story to Greg, he agreed that something drastic had to be done, fast. Greg told me that there was a retired Bloodhound living at 1310 Wilmington Street. He'd been a sniffer dog for the Hudsonville Police Department until his retirement a year earlier.
Sadly, Greg was shot in the right foreleg just a few days before his official retirement.
I thanked Greg dearly then went to 1310 Wilmington Street. As soon as I reached the perimeter of the yard, I took notice of a blood hound peeking at me from inside his dog house. WALTER HOUND