Fortunately, I was sleeping fitfully when the tinkling of glass breaking and the growl of the dog awakened me fully. I rolled over to the far side of the bed, slipped the night table door open and took out my already loaded pistol. I cocked it, slipped off the safety, and when they came through the door, I was ready for them.
After two weeks of putting up with these little bastards, they were not going to get away with it again. I saw the shadows moving under my door, aimed the pistol a foot above ground level, and fired four rounds.
A heavy thud told me that I hit home this time. I kicked the door open and fired another three rounds before I turned the light on.
It was not a surprise when the convulsing Persian cat on the floor stared up at me with its milky white, pupil-less eyes. Its fur was matted, splotchy and stank of death.
Bloody zombie cats.
submitted at 6:16am
4 June 2009