You know who you call Mike? You know who your call is when you find two dead cats in your fountain? Uber. You call Uber. You call (request on the app, whatever) an Uber XL and load your family and your dogs and maybe some clothes or valuables or whatever and you get the absolute fuck out of that house. Shit, don’t even pack. Don’t even grab your wife and kids. Just get your dogs and get in the Uber and fucking leave. Because that house… that house is fucking done-zo. Kaput. Curse and haunted and never to be owned or lived in ever again. Burn it to the ground, donate the insurance money to your favorite charity, and distance yourself as far away as possible from everything that has to do with this place you once called your home. Because it is home no more.
Two dead cats? Nah. Uh-uh. Nope. You’re in Hollywood Mike, you know the deal. One day you’ve got two dead cats in your fountain the next day your kids are waking up possessed and seeing ghosts and attempting to kill you in your sleep. Art imitates life, right? A high C-list borderline low B-list celebrity’s house haunted by two dead cats? That script is probably sitting on the desk five different studio heads as we speak. Get out before it comes true. Because at worst your house is fucking haunted and at best there’s a guy who knows where you live who just killed two cats at your doorstep. Get out of that house and never look back.
UPDATE: They’re gone now