The Cat and the Crab

‘Twas the night before Christmas and as guests gathered round the dining table I’d gone to grab the crab. Only the crab was not alone, far from it in fact as I gazed upon Selvestee paw deep in our Christmas feast. Shouting his name briefly brought his face out of the dish, tiny chunks of crab flecking all white whiskers. Dinner was ruined, four hundred dollars worth of Snow crab flushed down the litter box and fourteen house guests waiting patiently, now only to be served sides. Everything should have been perfect for a seafood Christmas extravaganza yet here I stood in a gunslinger standoff with a punk ass cat Mac-daddying the main dish. Grabbing Selvestee and throwing him out onto the yard I survey the damage. Pulling all the meat out of the legs had been a mistake. Some pieces had hairs on them, others small nibble and teeth marks, but for the most part the cab was intact. So I had a choice; throw away a rents worth of meat and disappoint my guest or pick off the cat eaten pieces.

Out I came with the hot plate of Christmas crab and everyone dug in. Jolly conversation was made over delicious butterdiped crab, seaweed salads, and an obscene amount of California rolls. The night was a delight and with no one being the wiser. No politics were talked, no family drama; well actually everyone discussed their family drama cause at a friend’s Christmas no ones family is there to complain. I took the plater back into the kitchen I felt reality sink in and pure relief quickly followed. It’d all gone off painlessly and with a little crab left over I set the plater outside for the cat, not that he still deserved it. But Selvestee was lying flat and stone cold. Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Oh the sad puff of fur was definitely dead for when I picked him up I could already feel his limp body beginning to stiffen. The crab must’ve been bad and every single person here had just eaten it. We all needed our stomachs pumped before we turned out deader than the cat. And I would have to tell them the reason I knew the crab was bad was because I’d caught the dead fleabag ankle deep in it. Shit.

I came back from the hospital throughly worn out. Half my friends had understood, a few had cursed me out, and only one had fainted. Turned out they’d had a horrible cat allergy so it wasn’t really the news that did it. Still the taste of charcoal was overwhelming in my mouth and climbing the front steps I thought about the fucking cat I’d yet to bury. Damn thing wasn’t even mine. Selvestee had been my ex boyfriend’s pet he conveniently dumped along with me when he left. Hopefully a large soup spoon would be enough to dig a hole cause no shovels were to be found in this house. Searching for the ridiculously huge serving spoon amid the dirty dishes I listened through my voicemail, skipping the ones I’d heard angerly in person until I got to one from my neighbor. Weird, we’d never spoken two words to each over since I’d moved in a few months back. Surprised he even had my number I listened to the following: “Hey this is Jerry, I just wanted to say sorry cause I hit your cat pulling into my driveway this evening. I didn’t want to disturb your dinner celebration so I left the poor guy outside your back door. Again I’m terribly sorry but he’d jumped right in front of me.” Shit.