Dec. 2: Ahead by a whisker

Sometimes, I am criticized for my treatment of cats.

On this blog, I am constantly disrespecting cats. I have never owned a cat. I will never own a cat. If you asked me to take in a stray cat, I would say no. I am allergic to several kinds of cats and I am a poor person. There are a hundred other things I need to spend my money on than kitty litter and food for the cat.

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All cats have the same name. It is this: CAT!

If you have a cat, I will call it CAT! Don't bother telling me that your cat's name is Mittens or Jack or Mr. Peepers. Its name is CAT!

CAT!!!

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This seems like an opportune time to dig up an old six-minute story I wrote. The title is "This is my Cat." It was inspired by a picture of a person holding a cat. The story is in italics.

I have a cat.

Look at my cat. This is my cat. I have a cat.

The cat likes it when I hold it. The cat likes to put its paws on my shoulders. It is my cat. I have a cat.

The cat is tawny and it likes looking at the sky on snowy days. It is not cold because it has fur. I am not cold because I have a warm jacket and a toque. I have a cat.

My cat has a name. Its name is Cat. That's right. Cat. Cat is a cat. Cat the cat.

CAT!!!

CAT!!!

CAT!!!

Sometimes I like to put my face right up close to Cat so our noses are touching. Then I close my eyes and I scream: "CAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHTTTTT!!!!!!" (Often this scares Cat and Cat runs away.)

I have a cat.

CAT!!!

Here is a haiku I wrote about my cat:

Hey. I have a cat.
My cat has a name. It's Cat.
Hey. I have a cat.

Cat is fat. Cat is fat because I feed it steak and almonds and figs. I get them from the store. Cat is not allowed in the store. There is a reason Cat is not allowed in the store. Here is the reason: He's a cat.

Cats are not allowed in the store. Once I gave Cat a stone. Here is what Cat did to the stone: He sniffed it. Then he walked away. He never paid attention to the stone again. It's like the stone didn't even exist.

Once there was an old lady playing bingo in the park. Cat clawed her eyes out and then chewed off all her fingers. The old lady was screaming. Blood was flying everywhere. No one was mad because Cat was adorable.

I like my cat. My cat is 7 years old. I got my cat at the pet store. The person who sold me cat was named Zoe. Zoe was a teenager and she wore all black and her head was shaved and she had 5 piercings in her ear and she ate a cheeseburger from McDonalds as I bought cat.

"Hope you like your cat," said Zoe.

"You know I will," I said.

We went home and I pulled out a string toy. Cat loved it.

CAT!!!

CAT!!!

CAT!!!!!

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I might be insane.

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I have not written on Six Minute Story in years. That is because it encourages me to be insane. What happens is that you are given a writing prompt (a title or a picture) and you have exactly six minutes to write something. So basically, what comes out of you is pure unfiltered id. My six minute stories tend to be pure nonsense with titles like The Day Ronald McDonald Wept Ketchup, Pogo Stick Legs, Santa in the Bathroom, The Talking Bottle of Salad Dressing, and Everyone is Lionel Richie.

In a way, note-a-day is a lot like Six Minute Story except that I have about 50 times as long to work on it. Unfortunately, my note-a-day is often as nonsensical as Six Minute Story. This note is not an exception.

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That is a picture of a cat that used to belong to Ash and Kelsey. The reason the cat looks like it's starring in Pet Sematary is that it had just fallen off a balcony. The balcony was on the second floor. I don't know why the cat is using my leg as a scratching post. I took this picture in July of 2012.

As I search through my photo-a-day project, I see lots of pictures of cats. None of the cats are mine. They are mostly the cats of Ash. Sometimes they are of other people's cats. There is a picture of a cat in a post office. There is another picture of a barn cat that used to be owned by a local sportscaster who died a few years ago. There is a picture of a cat in a cage. The cat is angry. Here is why the cat is angry: It is in a cage.

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Here is why I don't like cats: They don't apologize. If they knock over my glass of Ovaltine or disconnect my computer or knock all the china off a cabinet (happened to my friend) then they just behave as if everything is cool. Dogs are not like that. Dogs feel guilty about everything. I am the same way. I would be a great dog.

Seriously, if you tell a dog that he's responsible for the Kennedy assassination, he will believe you.

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Cats are not mentioned in the title of this note. Whiskers are. Cats have whiskers and this made me think the note should be about cats and why I dislike them. My sister used to like cats. When she was a little girl, she found a stray cat and hoped for permission to take it in. Now she is older and has no use for cats. I am proud of her.

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Cats are not the only animals that have whiskers. Dogs also have them. I do too. In fact, I have a lot. I haven't shaved in a week. Thanks to buggabugga, the office grooming standards have been relaxed a little. I probably should shave soon. It would be good to get ahead by a whisker.

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This note is destined to be stupid. To make it even stupider, I will write a parody of the Tragically Hip song, Ahead by a Century. I will change it to Ahead by a Whisker and it will probably be about cats.

First I would sleep on chairs
where people want to sit
Demand to be pet
when they are trying to write
That’s ‘cause I’m so important
I get to sleep all day
Then go nocturnal
Be up all night

Now it’s three in the morning
And I want water to drink
I’ll meow and meow and meow
’Til you fulfil every need

I am ahead by a whisker…

Etc...



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