I never thought I'd say this

I never thought I'd say this after I left school and so it turned out to be until I typed this post.

Back in the day when an A level Biology pass would be enough to qualify you as a plastic surgeon there was a shortage of (of all things) rabbits for dissection. The Biology teacher even brought in his kids' pet rabbits for dissection such was his devotion to our education. We used to gas our own subjects in those days and have them under the knife within a minute or two of death, still as warm as when they were alive.
There is something worryingly erotic about the feel of the still warm blood of your victim always leaving you with a craving for bigger prey and more volume of of the life sustaining draught. It was strange how we (The biology class, 6th form) started to look less pubescent with skins that were too perfect to be true.

The sensation of inserting one's fingers into the abdominal cavity amongst the still warm liver, kidneys always left us craving for bigger and bigger specimens. We needed to find a new source for such creatures and there it was right outside the school gates. The A48. What good fortune was that to move the school to such a productive site. Every time a dog or cat got hit by boy racers or number 30 buses (we weren't fussy) there was someone to slip out from the bushes and clean up the remains for return to the school laboratory. We even offered a small reward to the Llanrumney urchins and before long we had more corpses than we needed.

We'd often use the pelts for making ornaments or even items of clothing. My particular favourite was to make motorcycle gloves that looked like Chewbacca's mits although this was a few years before his debut in the cinemas. Their efficacy was proven one New year's day when I went up on a motorcycle with a mate to see City play Crystal Palace whilst deep winter snow lay all around, before the M4 had even reached Maidenhead. I used to carry many rabbit's feet for good luck as was the norm in those days and sure enough never had a fatal accident even though I regularly participated in the time trials we would hold on Cyncoed Road after the pubs were shut.

The day after we went back to school after the winter holidays a teacher brought in a fine St Bernard that had been struck down by one of the school buses outside the school gate. Rumour was that the driver did it deliberately for the bounty (10/-) which would have bought you two gallons of petrol in those days. Scarcely had it's heart stopped beating and it was put into a cauldron to boil so as to more easily salvage the skeleton which was required for educational purposes. The stench of boiled dog was quite stomach turning and come lunch time it pervaded the whole school and few people in school wanted to eat resulting in quite a christmas bonus for one of the local pig farmers.

Just as with Joseph and his amazing technicolour dreamcoat this time of abundance did not last long. The news of our activities had created a demand for various items. Animal paws and skulls were probably our best sellers which earned us enough to cover our tuck shop slates. We needed to look further afield and this time it was Cardiff's cats that proved to be the answer which brings me to the point of this thread.
We advertised the campaign with the catchy slogan of "Boil all cats". Every notice on the school notice board ended with this slogan in broad felt tip at the bottom. School desks had the slogan carefully carved into them which made this campaign one of the world's longest just as the old "Captain Morgan's Rum" painted on the old Canton stand at Ninian Park. I believe this slogan was also picked up by other schools though I'm not sure they understood it's origins.

Boil all cats, you only have to say it once and it gets into your psyche. Repeat it a second time and it comes dangerously close to being embedded in your thought processes for ever. You start wanting to bring it into your everyday conversations and ultimately shout it from the rooftops. A favourite of many kids was shouting it at pedestrians from the top of double decker buses. Cardiff roads were never as clean of road kill as they were back then in the late 60s.