I hit a cat today...

Let me begin by stating that I've never before hit an animal—I have been hit by them though. Exempoator: I was driving through a slum and a squirrel ran out of a dilapidated building and slammed, head first, into my hubcap and bounced off. I looked through my side-view mirror and saw it shake it's had cartoon style; I even think I heard that trademarked Warner Brothers eyedeyede-eye before it ran away. The next incident involved a torrential downpour and a seagull. I saw this bird fly all cockeyed and then it dove straight down towards my car and hit my front bumper—It's equilibrium must've been screwed up by the rain.

I've tried my hardest to avoid hitting squirrel's and have always told people how depressed I'd be if I hit one. I guess I've been fortunate that I've encountered really intelligent squirrels.

Now, the cat.

I'm driving my work van, a 4 ton Ford. I see this cat, black by the way, sitting on the opposite side of the road and it decides, in all of its sly wisdom, to jump into the road. I was sure that the oncoming truck would introduce it's tire to the cat's skull—not so. In two pounces it went from the other side of the road, barely pounces away from the truck and decides to land exactly where my tire was going to be. I heard, and felt, it's little bones crush.

Now I'm crazy pissed off. I've commented plenty of times on how my mental condition would be upon hitting a squirrel—a rodent. Hitting a cat never even entered my mind. Are not felines supposed to be smart and sly? Now I'm forced to change my whole animal hitting perspective. I have to add dogs to the mix, and dare I say, children. Why don't I add adults while I'm at it? I won't, however, bother adding the elderly—they shouldn't be let out of “Retirement Facilities” anyway.

I'm a Dopey Sentimental Bastard...

I just watched Love Actually and liked it. Ok, I liked it a lot. It was so sappy and cheesy that I was expecting to hate it. Man...I feel like taking the DVD, cracking it in half and gouging at all of my arteries. However, what I really want to do is rent a house in the south of France and fall in love with my Portuguese house-cleaner—filling me with the desire to learn her mother tongue so that I might go to her home and ask her father for her hand in marriage prompting him to take me to her workplace (while the whole of her community follows behind) and ask for her hand in Portuguese and she, in turn, will have learned English and we will kiss, awkwardly, in front of her father and her community. Everyone will clap—the end.