Waking up to the sound of brains being consumed is something I'm familiar with. Usually it's a vole or snowshoe hare. I always figured the kitties liked things that are crunchy on the outside and gooey on the inside.
What was new this morning was the smell. A faint putrescence wafted across the room. My first thought, that the cats had brought home some carrion, would prove to be wrong. Annoyed that my sleep had been disturbed, I kicked John and said "Your stupid cat is eating something stinky. Could you please go take care of it?"
Mind you, I can handle blood and gore and stink just fine. What I don't handle well is having to get out of bed any earlier than absolutely neceessary.
Then I noticed - John's leg wasn't warm. That just doesn't happen. He's always warm, even at forty below. Forgetting about the cats for a moment, I flipped on my reading light, worried about John.
Holy Mary Mother of Frogs. His hands and chest were covered with scratches, but he didn't seem to be very bloody. I checked his ABCs - airway was good, but no breathing, and no circulation. Oh Shit. Now I'm feeling freaked out that he's dead, and that I've been in bed with a dead body.
Hell. Well, I've dressed myself, and updated from the bedroom (thank you wi-fi!). I think I should check and see what's going on in the living room...