A short while ago, at about 11pm, I went for a bike ride to the golf course, where I went for a walk. The ride from the house to the golf course was harrowing because my eyes were not dark-adjusted, and it’s a pretty dark night. I had to pay a lot of attention to the edges of the road and to the sky to keep from crashing into crashable things. Once on the golf course, I walked my normal walk, and all was well. I arrived back at my bike, my eyes all dark-adjusted, and was able to ride home crazy-fast since it’s generally downhill and the trees were dark but the sky was lightish. Overall, it was a very satisfying ride.

Once home, I decided to drink beer and play Hedgewars. My dad visited me, asked what I’d done, and I told him about my night ride. I mentioned it was how I dealt with Sammi, our first dog, dying: going for about four consecutive nighttime rides. He told me about when his cat Irving died.

My dad:

I was in high school when I got home and found Irving dead. I’d had Irving since junior high. I went for a bike ride. This was back in the late ’60s, in the time of full-service gas stations. I was thirsty, and stopped at a full-serve gas station just in time to hear the attendant say, “I don’t know how to tell you this, ma’am, but you’ve got a dead cat on your engine.”

He assures me he has no recollection of his reaction of his reaction to that, but that it’s true and actually happened. Any other unbelievable dead pet stories?