There once was a Duck, his alcoholic caretaker named him Pasquell. We're not sure why, but we think he got the name from a porn.
Pasquell was a relatively happy duck considering his circumstances. He enjoyed typical duck activities like splashing in the toilet and quacking out the window at people walking by. He even had a girlfriend named Kitty. Kitty had fur instead of feathers, and meowed instead of quacking, but Pasquell loved her just the same. Kitty and Pasquell often spent the evenings hiding under the couch, where their bodies and limbs were safe from the dangerous and often intoxicated guests of his caretaker.
But unlike his caretaker, Pasquell didn't much care for beer. He had experimented with it back in his younger duck years, until one morning he woke up next to Oscar the Dog with some sore feathers and no recollection of the evenings events. That was when Kitty introduced him to "the nip". Pasquell really loved the kitty nip and gave up drinking all together. In a way he felt like he owed his life to Kitty for saving him from the evils of alcohol. Little did he know booze would still have a suffocating hand on his untimely death.
One night, Pasquell's caretaker partook in a rigorous series of beer pong competitions and lost badly. Beer pong, being a favorite pastime of college men everywhere, was not the only pastime on Pasquell's caretaker's mind that night as he drunkenly tried to pick up on every hot piece of ass at the party. But his efforts were futile; apparently, hot ass doesn't like to go home with sloppy drunk. So, it was just the caretaker and Pasquell, as Kitty was off prancing around town doing cat things. Pasquell was never quite sure what Kitty was up to when she would run off for an evening or two once a month to prowl the alleys, and though he had his suspicions, he tried to trust that Kitty was simply rummaging through garbage cans and starting fights with other felines. He'd even tried to join her once or twice but Kitty had insisted his webbed feet could never keep up with her stealth like claws.
That evening Pasquell found himself in the hands of a very intoxicated caretaker. On any other given night this might have annoyed Pasquell, but earlier Pasquell had come across Kitty's stash. It's needless to say Pasquell was feeling a little frisky, and having a warm human to cuddle up next to didn't seem like such a bad idea. Plus, if Pasquell used his imagination, the snoring of his human caretaker slightly resembled Kitty's purring. Pasquell didn't struggle as his caretaker tucked him tenderly into the bed and cuddled up next to him. Sure, it was odd of a caretaker to cuddle up next to a duck for the night, and sure, Kitty might have been jealous to see the whole affair. Kitty didn't much care for the caretaker. In fact, Kitty didn't even like the word "caretaker". It was her strict belief that this drunken slob was not her caretaker because she didn't need a caretaker. She was an independent feline.
But on that night, none of those social cliches mattered to Pasquell. Maybe it was because he felt so lonely without Kitty, maybe it was because he had a bit too much of the nip.
Early the next morning Kitty came home stinking of garbage. She searched the entire apartment for Pasquell but he was nowhere to be found. She began sniffing around and picked up his scent. It led her straight to the bedroom. She thought maybe the caretaker had thrown another ragging party and Pasquell has sought out refuge under the bed. But his scent led her onto the bed rather than under. The caretaker was the only one she saw. He was laying on his back snoring loudly, a sure sign he was drinking heavily the night before. She could smell the booze on him, but she could also smell Pasquell on him. Had the caretaker eaten Pasquell? Why would he do such a thing? Pasquell tasted nothing like chicken. This, Kitty knew because she had once taken a bite out of him prior to their love affair. He tasted foul and rubbery, and at that moment Kitty knew Pasquell was not meant to be eaten, but loved.
Kitty was furious as she scratched the feet of the caretaker, causing him to jump up and disturb his drunken sleep. that was when Kitty saw it; Pasquell's cold feathery body was lying flat as a pancake. The groves of the caretakers ass left an indent in his feathery hide. Although relieved the caretaker hadn't actually eaten Pasquell, Kitty was still mortified.
The image of his lifeless body would forever haunt her as she lived out the rest of her years acting out against the human race. Between her crippling depression and her increasing use of the nip, Kitty eventually found herself in a pound where she was then adopted by the "cat lady" who was equally insane as Kitty had grown.
Lesson learned here people: Don't drink and cuddle with your duck. You never know who you could hurt.