Animal Instincts [FANMAIL]
Loving your podcast so far. Good stuff. I was wondering, will you guys be reviewing any animal-themed horror movies? There’s so many good ones! “Cujo” is a favorite of mine. I’ve actually always shared a sensitive connection with animals. I feel as if I understand them more than most people do. Films aren’t as much of a hobby. I watch when I can. I shouldn’t be sharing this information, but I trust it’ll stay anonymous enough, or even just between us. I don’t have many people to reach out to. I listen to your podcasts at work. You’ve introduced me to a lot of fun-sounding movies. Work is routine, not everyone. I work at a vet’s office. I get the thankless task of burying and/or cremating pets on-site.
For the owners, it’s devastating. It can be for me on occasion too. It can be lonely but i do try to take care of the remains as best I can. My dad, he’s a vet, you see, so I’ve been working for him since I was 14 years old. My dad kind of got me started into my animal interests. He taught me all about pour commonplace four-legged friends. He even knows about some of the more exotic types: lizards and stuff. We have a cemetery in the back of our property, a peaceful resting place. Only pets overall, considering the ones that we get daily, end up there. Most of the time the families wish for cremation. I’ve even heard of some that end up taxidermied! (We don’t provide that). I’m not going into too much of the medical day-to-day goings-on. It falls into a lot of jargon. My father is more qualified for that kind of talk. Where was I? When I was a little boy one summer, we had a stray orange and white cat in our neighborhood. He appeared regularly and had a friendly disposition. I’d be at the base of our steps, just hanging out, and this cat would usually find me, and rub up on my leg and want attention. I didn’t let my parents know, really, because they frowned upon feeding and petting strays. They’d probably call somebody to take the cat away, too. But I found myself really loving this cat. I called her Abby. My childhood was kind of lonely, I was generally happy I guess, but I didn’t have many friends. I didn’t really have much time for them at school either. Abby showed up one time, while I was wearing loose shorts and spread my lanky legs out, and I as she was making her rubbing rounds for attention, she brushed at my crotch. It tingled. Here’s where I’m going to start being honest with you. Blunt. The part that I was afraid to confess but feel I need to let out: as much as I’m sensitive towards animals, they also are the only things that give me any kind of gratification. I don’t know why. I used to be ashamed of it, am I still? I don’t know, I flip-flop. I don’t really know why I’m this way…
About mid-August I found Abby dead. She was flat at her side, on top of a rusty sewer grate. She looked like a wet dishrag. I don’t know how she died, and there she was. The virginal bride. Sleeping beauty. I hastened to my house, without my folks knowing, grabbed a plastic bag, and managed to not only put her inside but also get her into my room without their notice. I had knots in my stomach. She was on my bed, as I had found her, only this time unceremoniously with newspapers underneath her. My shorts hung down my ankles, and I started rubbing my penis across her body, in gentle, petting strokes. The base of her neck all the way to the tail. Her fur, though wet and coarse, still managed to tingle me all over. My fingers trembled. I had even massaged her gums and teeth with my penis, like it had been a brush or something. And tried anal. To finish, I had cut a small opening in her back, and injecting my fluid into her. She was still warm. I could dissolve with her now. I don’t know how I didn’t get sick. Practices like these continued even after I buried Abby, well into my teenage years. So, when my Father finally manage to open his animal hospital, and asked if I would work there, of course I said yes. And I knew the job I wanted to do. And do with care. I would stimulate myself and the carcasses in various ways before laying them to rest. I once even danced like a stripper to the opened eyes of several old and long-sick dogs. One of the nurses said to me: “We have a new one today. Sad case. Lab. Paralyzed. The family couldn’t do anything else for it.” I was sympathetic. “Bailey” was the dog’s name, she told me. Five years old. I could hear a woman crying in our waiting room. She was young, no more than 22 at least. She was deep into the arms of a man I assumed to be her dad.
“It’s OK, Abby,” he said. “I know you loved that dog, but at least he isn’t suffering anymore, right?”
She reassured herself with tears at his words. Abby. I have to help her, as best I can. I knew only one way. it would require sacrifice on my part, but I have to do it. She would be with Bailey again. Making sure no one was watching me, I made careful cuts and incisions all on the dog’s body and removed some fur and skin before cremation. Other things I would have to improvise. Using the hospital’s records, followed by some other digging and research, I found that Abby was living in with her parents still. I looked up the layout of the house’s outside on Google Maps. They have a yard attached to a garage. I would need to go at night for my surprise to work. I’m typing this to you… it will likely be my last email for a while. I was writing while listening to your podcast. I’m nude. I have her dog’s skin and fur on, to look like Bailey, as best that I could. A fursuit wouldn’t do, no. I tried that whole scene and gave up… a bunch of posers. I even have Bailey’s tail. I tied it to a rope around my waste. His ears layered over my own. I hope I’m the ideal pet. In the moonlight I will tie myself into their yard and howl. I hope they can hear me. I can’t wait to see the joy on Abby’s face!