Thursday, August 23, 2007

If I were a cat.

I have always said that if reincarnation is possible, and even considering inherant risks, I'd like to come back one day as a cat. A male cat, because I don't ever want to go through any sort of c-section type surgery again. I'd like to be short hair, because I know I'd have to lick myself to keep clean, and too much hair in the throat can be an awful experience for a kitty. If you have cats, you've no doubt heard the god-awful sounds that emit from a cat whose throat is full of fur; kind of a cough, hack, wheeze, gasping sort of sound. I'd like to have rich owners who can afford to feed me the food that comes individually packed and looks like something that humans could potentially eat for dinner in lieu of grilled cheese or p,b, & j. I wouldn't want a collar because, let's face it, they're confining, and if I was gonna crap in a neighbor's pine straw or flower bed, would I really want them to read my name tag and be able to shout my name out loud as they chase me up the street? If my owner was mean to me, I'd do what my brother-in-law's cat did -- shit right in the sink that he brushes his teeth over. Wake up and smell the feces man....that'll teach you to adopt a freakin' stray cat off the street whose ass smells like she's from the lower part of town if you know what I mean. And if I were a cat, I'd spend my days lying in the sunny spot on the carpet or the couch or someone's favorite chair, and I'd do my best to shed there to mark that spot as my own. I'd be a one person kind of cat I think, and I'd curl up in her lap every night and bury my kitty face in the crook of her arm and purr like an angel. She'd whisper sweet nothings to me and give me treats and brush my hair. During the nights I'd frolic around the neighborhood or the house and get in to everything I possibly could, and I suppose I'd kill a thing or two and proudly deliver the corpses to different doorsteps. Perhaps I'd meet a companion kitty and we'd prowl through my terriory together, swishing our tails happily ever after.

Cats have the good life, for real. Many times as I have drug myself out of bed to go to work for another day I have wished I could lay in the sunny spot with my cat all day with not a care in the world except getting up to pee and eat and drink. And I guess those cussed hairballs. But I could take a hairball every now an then if it meant I had no mortgage and no job and I could spend the days doing whatever I wanted to do. Hiss at the mailman, arch my back, scare the kids, whatever. And if my owner called me some silly name in some fake nice voice, I could sit under her chair and let out a big tuna fart and listen to her blame everyone in the house but me. :)

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