Misfit Christmas was last night, an evening which shall be described in as much detail as the pre-party waivers will allow, right after I take several naps and drink a bathtub full of water.
Seems I have a hangover, a condition requiring that I remain in a prone position on the couch, pressing clumps of numbers on the remote in the hopes of landing on something entertaining on the television, and watching the cats.
You’ve met the cats, yes?
There’s Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys), a small-pawed and impertinent cat with a penchant for taking late-night phone calls in the bathroom (with the water running, the little bugger). She’s been known to take my car when I’m asleep, although she always returns it with a full tank.
Money as scarce as it is these days, I’ve overlooked this behavior. Anyway, what can I do but overlook it? The last time I called the police to report that my cat had taken my car without my permission, the laughter on the other end of the phone stayed with me for days.
Then there’s Dolly Gee Squeakers (formerly of the Humane Society Squeakers). Dolly is as beautiful as she is dumb, drags bits of string about the house whilst mewing piteously between clenched teeth, and will someday make a lovely muff.
And all this got me thinking. Cats aren’t just pets, aren’t just fuzzy little beings in their own right.
They’re also fully utilitarian.
For example, they’re useful purely for their heating properties. Temperatures well below zero? Don’t have enough blankets? Have you considered covering yourself with kitties?
Cats are also quite useful as alarm clocks. Confused and concerned that I have slept past my usual time of 5:50, both cats felt that it was their duty today to remind me, in three-minute increments, that I am not up, that I should get up, that I still am not up, that they believe I should get up.
Cats are also useful, in these difficult times, as food. Of course you’re going to want to use a sour cream-style sauce, of course, to cut the wild taste.
I recommend a Pale Ale with Kitty Stroganoff.
I keed! I keed!
I would pair it with wine; and oddly enough, there is no wine that doesn’t complement cat…
Ahh, don't let me fool you. The kitties are safe with me, today and every day, these musings merely my brain trying to locate firing synapses by exploring the whole "but-what-are-they-for" aspects of their fuzzy, freeloading ways.
Like I said: I'm a bit hung over.
I'll be on the couch today if you need me.
Do Not Succumb
17 hours ago