Day of the Cat

AKA Caturday

Seeing as we’re in the dead of winter (17ºF/-8C and snowing right now), our supreme furry rulers are spending most of their days abed. Of course they are—they’ve gotta rest and gear up for the arduous and, possibly danger-filled, trips to the can (followed by exhilarating, if depleting, zooms). Then there’s the labor intensive 3AM wake-the-fuck-up-and-feed-me-you-lazy-slag  calls. That’s some exhausting shit, I tells ya.

Now then, one (just one) of our sacred responsibilities as sentient beings on this little blue world, is to serve these, our feline overlords, and otherwise indulge their every whim. Thems the rules—it’s written right into the contract you signed at birth. (Yes, you did SO sign. It was right under article three, section two, paragraph three, if I’m not mistaken)

Fer instance, Jen’s old girl, Skitter has her own room (OK, it’s the guest room) and a twin size bed covered with fuzzy blankets and stuffed animals. This is as it should be—DUH.

Coco? My bed is her bed (I, perhaps, have that backwards) and I’m her stuffed animal (also bathtub and climbing gym).

Skitter, by the by, is the reincarnation of Virginia Woolf. Yep, I’m damn sure of that. It’s only a matter of time before she writes the great Feline-American novel.

I’ve theorized that Coco is actually an alien being from a little green planet in a galaxy far, far away (the Forest Moon of Endor perhaps?). Jen’s response to my supposition? Yeah, yeah—I got that vibe. I think we’re on to something here.

BTW—Jen, spiritually speaking and in case you hadn’t noticed, is the love child of Allen Ginsberg and Janice, lead guitar player for The Electric Mayhem.

Somehow, on this cold Caturday, this brings me ‘round to Franz Helm, a 16th century weapons-of-war designer and total tiny dicked dolt. Dude had a ‘great’ idea (insert eye roll that'd break the sky here) for decimating his master’s enemies:

Helm explained how animals could be used to deliver incendiary devices: "Create a small sack like a fire-arrow . if you would like to get at a town or castle, seek to obtain a cat from that place. And bind the sack to the back of the cat, ignite it, let it glow well and thereafter let the cat go, so it runs to the nearest castle or town, and out of fear it thinks to hide itself where it ends up in barn hay or straw it will be ignited.” (source)

Yep, I’m sure that plan was a real goer. Fer fuck’s sake, this moron had clearly never, ever met a live and fer reals cat.

Leave me alone Woman—I need to snuggle with Lamb Chop and Flopsy right now.