A Feast for the Animals

I just want to know that when I die someone will be there to find my body before the dogs and cats start feasting.

I worry that my cats will eat my undiscovered body.  To be disposed of with so little dignity.  *sigh*  I suppose, however, it is a very environmentally friendly was to go, so perhaps it wouldn't be so awful after all.

As I understand it, they go for the soft tissue first.  This, to me, means the eyes.   The thought is terrifying.  Not necessarily because I find the loss of my eyeballs particularly undignified, but rather, because, after waking up repeatedly in the past few months to cats licking and biting my elbow, my feet, my hands, I fear these horrible beasts will not wait until I expire.

As this point, I fear they will go for my eyes directly, as I slumber, using their razor sharp claws to slice off my eye lids before devouring the tender globes within.

To be perfectly clear, I anticipate that I would, in fact, awaken at first swipe.  However, if they strike in tandem, in my sleepy stupor, I just may not survive with my sight intact.

This is what really terrifies me - the notion of being blinded.  I won't even go swimming with my contacts in for fear I'll lose one in the pool/lake/ocean and be visually impaired until I arrive at home where more lenses await me.

This is neither here nor there.  I fear I am growing old.  And I am growing old very much alone.  Certainly I have friends and loved ones.  But how often, honestly, do I see them?  Hell, forget see.  How often do I even get to talk to them?

If I died on a Sunday night, it might be 2, even 3, weeks before my church called after me.  And would anyone think to come looking or call the police to perform a welfare check?  My boss would likely fire me as a "No call, no show."  But again, I doubt he'd be bothered to call or send in a search party.

Would anyone think to inform my best friend?  And what of my seminary friends?  Would they inquire if they hadn't heard from me in a month?  A season?  A year?  Might my picked-clean-by-fine-feline-teeth skeleton remain in my bed, on the couch, in the shower (though in that case, I imagine the cats would not eat me - cats and water and all), at the desk collecting dust and cobwebs until the walls fell down around me?

Perhaps I am getting neurotic in my old age.  Or maybe I simply have a very clear vision of my future.  Regardless, I just want to know that when I die someone will be there to find my body before the dogs and cats start feasting.