Tuesday, May 12, 2009

A Cat's Apology

Dear Dog,

I am so sorry about you being sent to the dog pound for the broken lamp which you did not break; the fish you did not spill; and the carpet that you did not wet; or the wall that you did not dirty with red paint...

Things here at the house are calmer now, and just to show you that I have no hard feelings towards you, I am sending you a picture, so you will always remember me.

Best regards,

The Cat

A Cat Workout Program

Cat fitness really can be fun. However, it is important to start any fitness program only when you feel like it. Don't let a few extra pounds intimidate you into becoming more active. The most important aspect of fitness is: when to start the program. The best time is at about 2 a.m. The house is quiet; there are no distractions. The warm-up is critical. Cats are experts at stretching, so this won't be a problem. Start with a few wind sprints, full speed, toenails clicking on the tile or linoleum floors. A few low but loud growls will help you feel charged up.

Now it is time to add some eye-paw coordination work. Find a marble (the big steelies work even better) and roll that down the floor as the sprints continue. See how many times you can ricochet it off the wallboards before it disappears under the fridge. Finally, work on that upper body strength. Climbing is a great exercise. Use draperies, macramé plant hangers, or clothing on hangers. You can even find some carpeting on some basement walls. Backs of chairs work well, too.

Now put it all together. A speed sprint to the end of the hall! A race around the living room! Leap to the back of the rocking chair! Let the rebound launch you to the top of the swinging planter! Rock that baby! Feel those muscles work. Just as the hook pulls loose from the ceiling, dash to the bedroom and dive under the covers. Establish your alibi just in time to hear the crash of the plant to the floor below.

Have a good Work-Out!

Calling in Sick (A Cat Owner's Story)

Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable because no matter how legitimate my illness, because I always sense my boss thinks I am lying.

On one occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway because the truth was to humiliating to reveal. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on my crown.

In this case, the truth hurt. I mean it really hurt in the place men feel the most pain. The accident occurred mainly because I conceded to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty.

As the daily routine prescribes, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen. "Ed!" she harkened. "The garbage disposal is dead. Come reset it." "You know where the button is." I protested through the shower (pitter-patter).

"Reset it yourself!"

"I am scared!" She pleaded. "What if it starts going and sucks me in?"

Pause. "C'mon, it'll only take a second." No logical assurance about how a disposal can't start itself will calm the fears of a person who suffers from "Big-ol-scary-machine-phobia," a condition brought on by watching too many Stephen King movies.

It is futile to argue or explain, kind of like telling Lloyd Bentsen Americans are over-taxed. And if a poltergeist did, in fact, possess the disposal, and she was ground into round, I'd have to live with that the rest of my life.

So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping to make a statement about how her cowardly behavior was, not without consequence, but it was I who would suffer. I crouched down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button.

It is the last action I remember performing. It struck without warning, without respect to my circumstances. Nay, it wasn't a hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, clawing playfully at the dangling objects she spied between my legs. She ("Buttons" aka "the Grater") had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I took the bait under the sink. At precisely the second I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws.

Now when men feel pain or even sense danger anywhere close to their masculine region, they lose all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements. Instinctively, their nerves compel the body to contort inwardly, while rising upwardly at a violent rate of speed. Not even a well trained monk could calmly stand with his groin supporting the full weight of a kitten and rectify the situation in a step-by-step procedure. Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight" syndrome; men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option.

Fleeing straight up, I knew at that moment how a cat feels when it is alarmed. It was a dismal irony. But, whereas cats seek great heights to escape, I never made it that far. The sink and cabinet bluntly impeded my ascent; the impact knocked me out cold.

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics snorted as they tried to conduct their work while suppressing their hysterical laughter. My wife told me I should be flattered.

At the office, colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?"

If they had only known.

The Bachelor and his Cat

A bachelor who lived at home with his mother and pet cat went on a trip to Europe. Before he left he told his best friend to inform him of any emergencies.

A few days after his departure, his cat climbed up on the roof, fell off and was killed. His friend immediately wired him with the message: "Your cat died!"

In a few hours he was back home, having cut short his trip in grief and anger at his friend, whom he told "Why didn't you break the news to me gradually? You know how close I was to my cat! You could have sent a message 'Your cat climbed up on the roof today', and the next day you could've written, 'Your cat fell off the roof' and let me down slowly that he died."

After a quick memorial service, the bachelor left again to continue his trip. A few days later he returned to his hotel and there was a message waiting for him from his friend. It read, "Your mother climbed up on the roof today."