It was a quiet, sultry day.
All was as you would expect it to be on a broiling May afternoon in the Chicago suburbs. The ceiling fan pushed the feeble breeze throughout the house, while giant mutant ants invaded the kitchen, seeking refuge from the pitiless sun.
As I said, it was quiet.
Earlier that day, the furred mammals were behaving appropriately by either airing their bellies . . .
. . . or escaping from the heat by inexplicably burrowing under a heavy layer of blankets.
The ants continued their death march.
By mid-afternoon, the heat had reached its zenith. Feeble attempts at keeping cool were abandoned for comatose positions in front of the bedroom window.
It was only a matter of minutes before the line between coma and death became blurred. Eyes were open, but unseeing. A limb twitched almost imperceptibly. Soon . . . nothing.
The Word was spoken. The magical Word that released these slumbering, possibly near-death animals from their date with Morpheus. The irresistable and undeniable Word.
Watch and listen as The Word transforms what was once lifeless to fully re-animated beings:
Or click here to see the miraculous resurrection.
In the five seconds it takes for these once-unresponsive cats to inhale their evening meal, however, I realize something. They’re not alive at all. They are simply zombie cats, who answer to only The Word, and once The Word has been uttered, they will return to the shadow-world between life and death, between wakefulness and slumber . . . between supper and breakfast.
And they’re never going to kill those ants.
Ants came from here.