“Nope, the depo’s too small,” said Postman Pat.
“There’s simply no way you could swing my cat.”
“Don’t be daft,” I said with a smile.
“She won’t hit a thing, I’ll miss by a mile.”
With a nod from Pat, I picked up his pet,
determined to win the £10.00 bet.
With just one swing holding the tail of Jess
I quickly made a disgusting, foul mess.
As she hit the wall her brain exploded
and her spine snapped in half when her stomach imploded.
Clumps of soggy fur flew all over the floor,
and most of her innards splashed up the door.
Pat cried in despair as the room was plastered
in the blood and the guts of the black and white bastard.
I must admit, I felt pretty bad.
I never meant to make my one of my heroes sad.
But to my surprise
it wasn’t Jess’s death that upset him the most.
No. He couldn’t stop weeping
because there was poo on his post.
© Carl Burkitt 2013