My son’s cat almost killed me last night.
She climbed up onto my bedside table and decided that was the spot to curl up and go to sleep. Fine. Cute even. But then—without warning—she ripped the nastiest fart I have ever encountered. And not just into the room. No. Right into the air intake of my CPAP machine.
I nearly died from cat ass syndrome as it was pumped directly into my lungs. It’s been ten hours. I’ve brushed my teeth. I’ve gargled twice. I can still taste it.
And yes, this really happened. I was almost asleep. Ask my wife—I started gagging and choking. I told David, “Your cat just tried to assassinate me.” This cat is already notorious for stinky farts, but this was next-level. Like she deliberately positioned herself to commit olfactory murder.
It’s not just “a cat farted near me and it smelled bad.” No. It was piped into my airway at pressure. Like being chloroformed with a butt.
There was chaos. I’m gagging and yelling, and the rest of the house is howling with laughter. I’m shouting, “Why are you laughing?! I nearly died!”
She had the entire house to go lie down and fart. She chose the one location that funnels directly into my lungs. I think it was premeditated. I told David this morning: “Your cat is guilty of attempted murder.”
I tried to report it. Called the police. There’s no option for “Press 7 if your pet tried to gas you to death.” Why isn’t there?
911 handles regular emergencies. But this needs its own line. Like… 912. The cat fart hotline.
There should be a branch of the poison control center for this. “Yes, hello, I’ve just been exposed to direct feline emissions and I’m not sure if I’m going to make it.”
And tonight—we’re having chili. I know someone is going to think it’s hilarious to give some to the cat. This isn’t over. This was just the warning shot.
I’ve washed my CPAP mask and hose three times now. White vinegar. Still smells like death. I may have to burn it. But if I do, I can’t do it near the house. The county will condemn the property. “Smells like roasted cat fart” is not a designation you want on your home appraisal.
And if David feeds her chili? That’s it. That’s how the Earth ends. The sky will darken. The paint will peel from your house. The seas will boil. There will be no survivors.
So if you don’t hear from me for a few days, and the trees near your house start wilting? You’ll know it happened.
The ApoCATlypse came.
And I… I breathed it in.
Stephen is the author of Transmigrant, an epic science fiction thriller, available on both Amazon and Audible. The first seven chapters are available on this website for free.
Stephen also writes short stories: science fiction, fantasy, historical fiction, and retold fairy tale with a twist, available for free HERE.
This had me chuckling out loud. I’m so sorry 😂