This horrible thing was on my doorstep a few days ago.
I'm pretty sure that if I package it up and drive a few blocks and throw it in a dumpster, it will be back on my doorstep again tomorrow, festooned with onion skins and candy wrappers.
My eyebrows would collapse in puzzlement, then dots of perspiration would bead my upper lip. I'd scoop up the Possessed Easter Cat, Throw it in the car, speed off to the E. 55th Street pier and hurl it into Lake Erie.
The next morning, I would wake from a troubled sleep, stumble off to the bathroom, where I would turn on the light and regard my desperate face in the mirror, only to find the reflection of Possessed Easter Cat staring up at me from his perch on the back of the toilet, soiled and dripping.
I would, of course, scream.
Then, I would collect myself and start a raging fire in my backyard, a funeral pyre for Possessed Easter Cat. I would burn him and his little Easter cape and his soggy pink and white ear bonnet.
The next morning, my eyes would open tentatively and I would peer out from beneath the tangled bed linens. He would be on my nightstand, hideously charred to almost beyond recognition--save his glowing green eyes. As I am overcome with maniacal laughter, Rod Serling would appear outside of my bedroom door and explain how a twisted mind can be pushed over the edge by a simple little kitty.
Meow.
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