Death Coughs Up a Hairball

Right...

Who knew the grim reaper's name was Oscar? Figured it'd be something awe-inspiring...it's like finding out God's taken name is actually Miles.

I always knew cats were fucking creepy. Slinking around like they own the place...that uppity, elitist thumbing (pawing?) of their slimy noses at us, like Rupert Murdoch in a Wal-Mart.

Thankfully, even chilling tales of ferocious killer kitties have their fucktards:

After about six months, the staff noticed Oscar would make his own rounds, just like the doctors and nurses. He would sniff and observe patients, then sit beside people who would end up dying in a few hours.

Dosa said Oscar seems to take his work seriously and is generally aloof.

What the shit is that all about? He's a cat! They're not friggin rounds, they're strolls! He "takes his work seriously"...because he does his "rounds"? Yeah, he's working, that's really fucking on-point...not like the cat just happens to like to, oh, I dunno, move. I can understand, though...if my pet dog doesn't have gutters to unclog or drywall to patch, she's lazy as a federal employee on sick leave.

By the way, if any cat ever comes near me again, that fucker's getting punted like it's fourth and ten.