 |
 Y2K, Why Kick the Kat
Well looky here folks, its over. Now I don't know 'bout you,
but I was getting dog tired, (can I say that?) ah well, of this
whole thing with Bubba and Monikevonzipa. My two-legger, Marion,
she would come home after a hard day's work, kick off her shoes,
turn on the tube and start flipping channels to get the latest
dirt on this whole Zippergate peoplastrophe. I aint gonna insult
the bruthas and sistas by calling it a CATastrophe, 'cause us
cats do what we gotta do with dignity, at least those of us who
still can.
Now Marion does all of this even before she fetches me a few vittles.
Hell, I don't care if she doesn't want to eat. Maybe she is on
one of them new fangle diets that comes out in that weekly women's
magazine or, who knows what she's eating at the office. I remember
the good old days when people just 'gave' at the office, now seems
some people 'get it all' there too.
So the other night, bunch of us kats were hanging out at the back
room of this hotel having a couple hands of poker. You know, swigging
a few Upper Canada brews and puffing on some illegal Cubanas,
when Chuckie C, one the bright lights in the group came into the
room, (I call him a bright light 'cause he's one of these fellas
who when the room gets quiet for more than a second, he's got
to say something.) This time, he wondered how this Y2K thing going
to affect us kats. Didn't I warn ya folks? Its even infecting
poker games. Time was when the only things we discussed were fair
felines and who could score a piece of action over at the deli.
Now its Y2K this and Y2K that. For me Y2K, means Why Kick the
Kat.
That brings me 'round to this. A couple weeks ago, Marion goes
on a date and brings back home this real dapper two-legger, three
piece suit, black patent leather shoes and sufficient hair spray
and gel to grease the axles of a locomotive. When this of type
of two-legger leaves a room, a bit of his charm still lingers
long after. So Mr. Charmer walks over to me to pick me up by the
scruff of the neck. I hate that so I back away and gives a bit
of growl. That got him off my back, but then he gets an attitude.
For the rest of the night we just traded dirty looks. I could
tell he wasn't a cat person, I could smell dog on that loser a
mile off. Later he and Marion got into a shameless display of
saliva swapping and groping on the couch and then they headed
for the workshop, but before they could ruffle the sheets there
I was, up in the middle between them. Mr. Charm was none too pleased.
I wasn't trying to block him from entering club paradise, but
when the club is vulnerable, the Splattman has got to be woman's
best friend.
She goes to the bathroom and Mr. Charm listens for the door to
slam shut and then he kicks me out the bed, physically. I sailed
across the room to the other side hitting the far wall and landing
on the edge of dresser. Ouch! That smarted. Mistake on his part.
I didn't particularly like this dog-loving, two-legger when he
walked in and now I really hated him. I waited 'til he was on
the ready get set go and I lined up at the foot of the bed on
the floor. All I could think of at that moment was the two- legger
who got me fixed and stopped me dead in my tracks from performing
the way this charmer was about to. His toe was sticking out from
under the sheet and at just then that toe looked to me like a
piece of prime round, grilled just right, medium rare smothered
in fresh plump mushroom caps with lots of basil and thyme. All
that was needed to complete the meal was a pint of ice cold Smithwicks.
With one sudden action I leaped and sunk my teeth into Mr. Charm's
big toe. He yowled and jumped off the bed naked as a shorn sheep,
with everything swinging and dangling and hobbled to the bathroom
crying like a Mama's boy.
Meanwhile Marion's mood was broken and she laughed uncontrollably
at the way this loser was hollering and carrying on. So I realized
it was time for the Splattman to take charge. I took his place
in the bed and snuggled up close to Marion. Women love it when
the kat comes in and consoles them especially after some hot shot
fails to stand and deliver. I knew that I wouldn't be seeing Larry
the Loser soon again, because he left cursing both me and Marion.
That'll teach the old Yowler 2 Kick a cat.
So ladies, if you are a cat person, before you bring home Mr.
Special, find out if he is Kool with felines first, hey because
when that joker has trumped and you're dumped, you've only got
us to console you. Know what ah mean? You with the crying and
fist pounding on the table. Look out, your Kat is always right
there.
Peace out, Splattman is history.
Until next time Meoow and Grrr.
Splatt Deekatt
Email me
|
|
|
