Someone took a shot at me today while I was driving over to run my mother to the pharmacy. I wasn’t hurt and my car only got a little ding—I think the weapon of choice was “just” a pellet gun. But the incident has put me in a foul mood. You see, four cats in my mother’s neighborhood have been shot in the last couple of weeks. That’s the reason I reported the incident to the police (an act of civic responsibility that wiped out what was left of an already pretty wasted day). I wish I could say the police sounded concerned and determined to find the culprit, but, well, this is post-Katrina New Orleans, where not too long ago the police found a woman’s head in a saucepan on a stove. So what’s to get excited about a pellet gun, right?
It’s not the ding in my car that has me riled. It’s the realization that somewhere out there some irresponsible parent’s nasty, twisted kid is killing people’s harmless, beloved pets. What fun. Oh, look; there’s a lady in a VW. Let me take a shot at her, too.
I’ve found myself fantasizing about what I’d like to do to both that kid and his parent. And that's kinda scary, because it makes me realize that maybe I'm a bit nasty and twisted myself.
3 comments:
How pleasant. A little budding sociopath right in your neighborhood. Sheesh!
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