Weber

2.1.2k2

Like all parents, I go through my childrens' things periodically. Now just because my children aren't exactly human don't change that none. My cats are every bit the obnoxious little devils that I was when I was their age.
Rummaging through their toys, I found a few fake mousies that needed to be tossed out and replaced. Going through their dope stash, I realized that it was getting a little low, so I made a mental note to get more Cosmic Catnip on the next Petco run. But when I got to Fatty's Palm Pilot, and started peeking around in it, I took note of some of the appointments he had in his datebook. That’s when I got more than a little peeved.
I have always hated the thought that someone was going through my stuff. I know my ma did, some, but she also respected my privacy. That made her transgressions all right as far as I was concerned. She would go through my stuff when a box of Cheez Nips went missing. I understand that. Often she would find that box tucked away behind a stack of comics or sweaters. She never searched for smokes or booze, though. She never had to. My friends’ and my consumption of such were not too big a secret. One of my pals’ ma would butcher and barbecue any and all ciggys found on her property, but my mom figured I would figure it out on my own. Sure, it took years, but I got the ciggy part figured now. The booze, though …
My mother never searched me, never patted me down. I know some guys and gals that did get such a treatment. The closest I came to that was once when I chucked a couple pair of jeans into the laundry. Back then it was like this: Wait until there’s enough dirtys and then do a whole load. Well there wasn’t enough dirtys, so I left them in a pile. I also left something in one of the pockets.
I think I was 12 or 13, maybe 14. I came home and went into my room and waiting for me was a couple pair of clean jeans. And a little pile of stuff that was in the pockets. This was normal. Sometimes I would leave dice or chalk or kleenex or crap like that in my pockets and ma would dutifully check those pockets before she washed them and find and remove the items that would otherwise ruin a wash. Well yeah, this time I had left a condom in my pocket. I think at the age I was I had MAYBE French-kissed a girl, but it was cool to carry around a raincoat, so I did. My mom left a little note that said, “From your pockets. –Mom.” I was so goddamn embarrassed. I laugh my ass off now.

So I got no real right to snoop through my cat Fatty’s appointments – I’m not trying to save a wash from being ruined, or the equivalent thereof - but I’m looking out for him. I was shocked and annoyed, however, to see the details of some of his scheduled appointments: “Tuesday, 4am: Allow no human to sleep.” “Thursday, noon: Puke on carpet.” Saturday, whenever Lunkhead takes a shower: Sit outside door and cry as loudly as possible.” “All Day Sunday: Knock shit over.”
It’s something that I shouldn’t have been surprised about. I’ve suspected as much for some time. Not that my cat refers to me as Lunkhead, but that there was an organized campaign by felines against us humans.
I’ll have a chat with the little sneak and get this mess squared away, but I would advise the rest of you folks that live with cats to check their Palm Pilots and see if there’s something unpleasant waiting for you Friday morn. There is a deluxe treatment scheduled for me, and with the hangover I’m expecting, I shudder to think of the misery …

Tonight: Annie's.

News: If you missed last week’s meeting … pity for you! Don’t make the same mistake this week. Welcome to the List: Alaina!


Tonight’s Singled-Out List Members: Kyra and Sara. Where the heck are those two?
Satanic Word of the Week: Tonight

Aye Carumba! I so tired. I work lot. How I find time for Venue Announcement I not know. You make happy and come to venue and bring friends. I know I will. See you there! bye-ee!