BLITEOTW - Cat Scratch Fever, Part 2

Hell. I'm writing this from the top of the bus, watching my house burn. Yes, the full length school bus in my front yard. I'm a wreck, and this day is nuts. From what I've seen online Spokane, Denver, Seattle, and Brooklyn have been affected by this rise of the undead. I don't even have a cricket bat.

To pick up where I left off... Disturbed beyond all sensible thought by the death of my spouse, I finally went to the living room to see about cleaning up whatever the kitties had killed. Soon I would be saying whatever else the kitties had killed.

The stench was foul and hung in the air. Both cats were crouched over a marmot, ripping and tearing. The russet and gold fur was matted with blood, and most of the head was gone.

I scolded the cats with a "Hey, guys, take that outside,” and went to pick up the corpse by its tail, so I could toss it out on to the porch. And the cats hissed at me. I even got a growl out of the orange one as I moved toward carnage. What the fuck? I'd had these two for 14+ years, and I'd never had this happen. That's when I noticed - both cats look rather beat up, and that nasty smell, it's not coming from the marmot, it's the cats. This just isn't making sense. It's like something out of one of those cheezy movies Cindy always makes me watch. Cheezy movies that may have saved my life.

As I start into a feline directed diatribe, I hear a noise from behind me. Turning around, I see John leaning against the bedroom door. John. John who is dead. JohnWhoIsDeadIsLEANINGAGAINSTHEBEDROOMDOORWHATTHEFUCKAMIHAVINGANIGHTMAREPLEASEWAKEUPI'MREADYTOWETTHEBEDIFTHATWILLMAKEITSTOP!!!

With the clarity of thought that comes when adrenaline floods your system, I realized that however improbable, I had zombies in my house. Zombie John and Zombie Cats. And I didn't want to join them.

The good thing about living in a small house is that things are close. Like the front door. I ran to the front door and went into the entryway. I started shoving and piling things against the door and putting stuff in place to block the cat door. I grabbed my weed burner (the redneck's flamethrower) and the bladed weed-whacker. They were the only things that I had on hand (in the entryway) that might work as weapons.

Moving out the actual front door, I took my chest freezer that's on the porch, and shoved it against the doorframe. It won't keep the door from opening, but it should slow things down.

I could hear noises from inside the house, and part of me hoped that John was eating the brains of the cats, getting the little bastards back for turning him, and keeping him distracted while I figured out what the hell I was going to do.

Hell. John's bigger, stronger, and faster than me. Letting him get close is not a good idea, I'll lose in a physical contest, even if it's handicapped by the fact that he's undead and I have weapons. This means I need to be sneaky. Fire always seems to be a popular way to deal with zombies, though I've always been bothered at the prospect of flaming undead hordes shambling along. Damn. I've joked for years that living in a cabin means you're really living in a pile of firewood, I guess we're about to see if it's true.

The good thing about living on a redneck compound is that I have plenty of petroleum distillates to use as accelerant. I walked around the house with a five gallon jug of two-stroke mix, soaking the bottom log layer and the top of the skirting. I then soaked the skirting with giesel (gas & diesel blended). Trying to be prepared, I took the weed-whacker and the 2.5 gallon jug of two-stroke to the platform on top of the bus. Then, I hooked up my propane bottle from the camping gear inside the bus, lit off my weed burner, and set the house on fire.

3 hours later it's still smoldering. All my ID, keys, and such were inside the house. It's a good thing the spare laptop was left in my car overnight. Unlocked for once. I'm scared to go to the neighbors, and I'm still not sure how this was spread, though I'm blaming the cats. This has to be widespread, as no one has driven by the house all day, and we had no response the fire.

I'm more scared and alone than I have ever been before. I couldn't have been the only local to survive. If anyone reads this, please, let me know you're out there. Please.

BLITEOW - Cat Scratch Fever, Part 1

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...

Rise of the undead!

Sorry, I've been busy working at work and at home. So, since Cindy sent me the following meme and some people (rightly) think I need to update my blog, here's a meme leading us up to next Friday, Blog Like It's The End of the World 2008.

When Zombies Attack

You are in a mall when the zombies attack. You have:
1. one weapon.
Unlimited Ammo? I want a grenade launcher. Take those MoFos out, little gobbets of zombie flesh all over Wilson's Leather and Franklin Covey.

2. one song blasting on the speakers.
Because of Cindy and our conversation this evening and in the past - "Pet Semetary" by The Ramones

3. one famous person to fight alongside you.
Hal Jordan aka Green Lantern. Because he's sexy, powerful, and historically hasn't had a problem with assertive women.

Weapon can be real or fictional, you may assume endless ammo if applicable. Person can be real or fictional.

Cindy snagged from astolat.livejournal.com ... following back through its origins is a hoot.