Day 14: The Story of How I Accidentally Ate a Cat

This is the story of how I ate a cat. My mother doubts that it was a cat. You can determine for yourself. Either way, this will always be known to everyone I know as THAT ONE TIME WHEN ENNA ATE A CAT:

I went down to the roach coach (you know, the place where you can buy primarily mexican food from the back of a truck, yeeeeah that place).

The lady who runs the roach coach always has her boobs on display, almost like on a platter. She HAS to wear some form of animal fur at all times.
That day, it was boots that looked like she skinned 25 cats, and kind of hung them off her feet. She usually has a purple pimp hat on too. And she doesn’t speak any English. She has got to be Lybian or something. (Nothing against the Lybians or anything, it’s more like I cannot determine, after many tries, to figure out where this woman is originally from.)
Normally, I get chile and cheese tamales from the roach coach. They are 50 cents each, and a pretty safe bet. But not that day! That day, I ran up to the truck, waited in line amongst the hookers and pregnant women smoking blunts (she parks in front of the rehab at the end of the block. When they go on break, it smells like a mix of gas-station-grape-cigar and weed. No, I am not kidding.) and when I get up to the front of the line – what luck! She has RIB TIPS!

Enna’s favorite food of ALL TIMES! And and and! It’s only $2.00! WHAT A STEAL!

See, this is where I go wrong. I should have known that if the crack addicted HOOKERS wouldn’t put it in THEIR MOUTHES I should not put it in mine. But
no. I happily pay for my purchase, and run back to my office to eat it.

The first thing I notice is that the meat is more like pulled pork, it’s so tender! YAY! Sometimes ribtips are overcooked, and tough. Not this. This is shredded meat. There are no actual rib “parts” in this dish.

But what is with all the little, tiny bones? Normally, rib tips have gristle/cartalidge in them…but these are actual bones…?

And then I notice that there’s an actual ribcage.

There are tiny, white, fexible ribs. And the rib cage? It’s too small for a pig. It’s about the sizeof a …oh no.

This is when it dawns on me:

I AM EATING A CAT.

With BBQ Sauce, but all the same, I AM EATING A CAT.

I took pictures. They are on my flickr. We have determined that I ate a cat.

I named the cat Freckles.

Freckles was given a proper burial in the kitchen garbage, where even the immigrant kitchen workers, having only seen the carcass in PASSING, were grossed out that this gal ate a cat.

And that is the story of how I (supposedly) ate a cat.

~fin~