It's raining cats and dogs, from a cloud of pregnant angry gods. Most fall to the ground and splatter, leaving an ever growing sea of fur and gore. Some fall in swimming pools, and scurry out. Some fall on trampolines next to bouncing children. A great dane falls on a baby carriage, and a kitten falls in the wide-open, screaming mouth of its grieving mother, choking her like Mama Cass. A tabby screams briefly, impaled on the antenna of a radio tower. Vultures from all over the world gather and feast.

The gutters are clogged with cats and dogs. Churches, mosques, and synagogues are defiled with their blood. Maggots rule the eco-system and flies multiply until the sun no longer rises. One cat splatters on the windshield of a man who is out of windshield-wiper fluid, and he sits in his car crying as a cacophony of meows and whimpers continually ebbs and flows, terminating in an unending, horrific series of thuds.

The storm continues, spreading across the Earth. Astronauts in the International Space Station comment that it looks like an ugly, red-tinged mold is covering the planet. Soon, the Earth starts to swallow the cats, dogs, and other creatures that have died, and only corpse-eating rats, flies and maggots still live, manuevering through a pile of rotting flesh and decaying bones. A few vultures not knocked dead by the falling cats and dogs still peck at the carcasses.

Never say "It's raining cats and dogs." Ever.