Today my cat, the most loving, caring, sweetest, least judgmental creature to walk the face of the planet, whose body contained not a single unpleasant molecule, died.

He died from ‘unknown causes’. Not from any health problems. The vet did a full tox screen on him, everything. An otherwise healthy creature went into sudden shock and died. For no reason.

And animals don’t have souls? I wouldn’t be a part of a religion where this kind creature who knew nothing but love for everything else on the planet (he even refused to hunt or hurt bugs) doesn’t have a soul, or can’t get into the afterlife, but the hypocritical, hateful, spiteful, angry, wife beating, child molesting monkeys that ‘do’ supposedly have a soul get to go hang out in eternal enjoyment simply for turning off their brains and saying ‘you’re my saviour.’

Where were you when a full hundred people wept and prayed for this kind gentle creature to live, but you can’t be arsed to swat a few of the more useless members of humanity?

I’m glad you’re not real. If you were, I’d have to hate you.

go **** yourself, imaginary ‘friend’ for grownups.

Oh, please don’t lightly poach us
Or baste us with hot fat.
Don’t fricassee or roast us
Or boil us in a vat,
And please don’t stick thy servants, Lord,
In a Rotissomat”

–Composed by Eric Idle and John Du Prez, authored by Graham Chapman and John Cleese