Or, El Jefe: You Might Seriously Have Autism, Man, Which Sort Of Sucks (For Me and For You)
A couple of months ago, I ruminated on the soaring joys of having a feline present in the house (to summarize: The joys! They are soaring! Oh they are like heavenly beams of light shining right on my face! Like an eye-exam, minus the dilation! That's what those Joys are, and they are innumerable!). If you're skeptical about the conclusions I drew (and if you know me at all, you should be), then full disclosure, friends. Full disclosure.
So it's been a couple of months since El Jefe and I were introduced, and I have just one question for the fuzzy mongrel:
Jefe, WHAT. THE. !@#@#$$#%%$^^%?*
*(If you're ardently placing letters into the spaces I've created in the so-called curse word above, you will note that it is longer than most 4-letter fiends, and that is because this curse word is so terrible and horrifying that it's more like a 4-syllable curse word, so you might as well stop trying to figure out what it is, because it's like fifty times worse than the F-bomb. Seriously.)
You're a cat. A CAT. One fell swoop from an ill-willed and slightly out-of-his-element-in-Long-Beach screaming bald eagle and you would be toast, my little friend, and yet you stalk around the house as though you're fixing to ensnare yourself an African elephant, like, right this minute.
He's going to do what to me? Hold on, I just sprayed water everywhe--HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Listen, Jef. There's a crucial switch that's turned resolutely ON in the brains of most smallish animals that alerts them to the fact that they are most definitely residing near the bottom of the food chain. This switch seems to be entirely dismantled in your skull, a feat I'm quite sure you accomplished with a simple pair of wire cutters and some string. You might be a real MacGyver, but a ferocious predator you are not.
And given the simple fact that you rely on people like me for not only safety and protection, but food and water and the occasional thrilling dip into the toilet bowl, one would think you'd at least be nicer. Or even civil. I can work with civil. But this schitzo schtick you've decided to roll with is just baffling. If Jody comes whooping and hollering into your lair with all intentions of cuddling you like Lennie and oh, everyone, it's like we've just requested that you shave yourself bald and jump into a baby pool filled with ocean water and hydrogen peroxide. And the energy you exert in trying to resist her (severely misguided) advances finally sheds some light onto why you spend all day sleeping. You're storing up energy. TO REJECT PEOPLE.
The thing is, were you a human, El Jefe, this sort of behavior would not only not fly - it wouldn't even leave the ground. Imagine a friend who lives at your house and refuses to pay rent. Then imagine this friend spends his entire day sleeping in a dark corner of your closet, only to come out at night and demand someone have a meaningful conversation with him. Except when you sit down to have this meaningful talk with your friend, he laughs scornfully at every single thing that comes out of your mouth, no matter how lucid or eloquent. And then he slaps you across the face repeatedly and asks for water. Fed up, you get him water, thinking that maybe you can carry on a civilized conversation now, except his mind is entirely elsewhere and the only thing he wants to do before retiring for the night is lick himself. IN THE CROTCH.
What? That sounds perfectly normal.
Now you tell me, El Jefe, does that sound like a healthy human relationship?
I didn't think so.
Take note, cat. All it would take is ONE HUNGRY BALD EAGLE. I'd show some more respect from now on if I were you.
I know, and thanks for that present, Jef. Thanks a whole bunch.