This disgusting piece of drivel arrived unsolicited, and in fact, unwanted, at my virtual door, unsigned, of course. Who would acknowledge responsibility for such trash? My immediate reaction was to simply erase it, but then I thought, well, in a sense I've become a publisher here, and I owe it to the public to let them make their own judgements on the suitability of published material. The press does NOT belong in the bedrooms of the nation, so to speak. Although the style and content remind one of a certain strider who shall remain nameless, he maintains, insists, that he bears no responsibility for it, and reminds me that there are any number of chat friends who will support his claim that he is in fact an avid animal lover. I suppose we'll never know. So read and be ill, and remember that you are proud to live in a country where the press is still free. Yuck!

THE STUFFED-CAT PAGE

 Everyone, way deep down, is a pet lover. There is something fulfilling, warm and fuzzy, about having a pet to come home to. Over the years I've tried to find the ultimate animal companion without much success.

Tropical fish were okay, but they never survived their walks. The only snake I had was always leaving half digested cats and small dogs lying around the apartment or cutting off the circulation in my neck causing me to black out. Anyway, the last I saw of him was the tip of his tail going down my toilet, followed shortly thereafter by a lot of screaming and crashing in my neighbour's apartment. Fortunately they didn't know I had Porky and I sure didn't want him back.

The parrot was ok, but I couldn't get a word in edgewise in our conversations. He had the advantage of watching Phil and Geraldo all day and thought he knew more than me about the real world. He still should have humoured me, though. I was the one who fed him. Of course, the fact that I was the one who fed him was also his ultimate undoing, but I'd rather the humane society folks didn't get wind of that episode. It's not something I'm proud of.

The Rottweiler started out fine, but I think he was queer, at least for me. The big, black, son of a bitch didn't know what "NO" meant. I couldn't turn my back on him for a second, and under no circumstances could I take a shower with him in the apartment. He followed me all over the place, tongue hanging out, making bedroom eyes at me, dripping on my floors. I guess I could have traded him for a female, but what if she was as horny as him? I'd really be screwed, no pun intended.

For years I'd been hearing about the inestimable joys of being owned by a cat. The problem is, I'm allergic to cats, so, after long, hard thought, I came up with the ultimate and perfect solution.....


A STUFFED CAT...


Brilliant, huh?

Oh bliss...Oh rapture... After so many lonely, loveless years, not to mention the physical danger from ungrateful pets, I'm complete again. I have a furry little pet who sits quietly on my lap while I watch television, who keeps me company in bed at night, and who rubs against my legs as I prepare dinner. He never tries to hump my leg, or worse. No more dead or half-digested small animals lying around. He costs nothing for food. I can leave him alone for as long as I want, only a quick dusting when I get back. And no more sneezes and sniffles.

It wasn't easy to get everything just right but after a few false starts it all seems to have worked out. In case you're interested I'll describe the procedure for you.

First of all, obviously, you need a cat. After the idea occurred to me I figured, fine, so go get a dead cat. Yeah, right! ... Easier said than done. The humane society people didn't understand that I really loved cats. In fact, there were threats of reporting me to the police, but I guess they never did. Anyway, they were obviously not going to be my source so I tried getting one off the road but the first few I found were getting kind of mushy, even smelly. It was dangerous, too. No, not from the cars. From people! Do you know that there are actually folks out there who eat roadkill?--- Yucch!--- Some of them get real ugly if you try and beat them to a warm carcass.

I carried the third one home, but it turned out to be a raccoon, and the fourth one was in several pieces, which probably would have worked in a pinch, but some critical bits were missing, and his tail seemed to be coming out of his ear. Finally, just when I was about ready to give up, I lucked out.

It happened to be late, late autumn, and the water in my building's pool was nearly down to freezing temperature. Apparently a little spotted tabby had gone in for a swim. The cold water had preserved it perfectly and I was able to salvage the carcass absolutely unmarked.

The next step was getting him/her (you guys understand what happens to certain appendages in icy water) stuffed. The local taxidermist wanted an awful lot of money, so I had to get creative. The problem was how to get the insides out, and then how to keep the stuffing in. I've applied for a patent on my system, so until I hear back on my application I can't share it with you. Suffice to say that it took all my ingenuity, and a strong stomach, along with an air hose, some corks, an old sweatshirt, a needle and thread, and some duct tape (to keep the eyes from blowing out). Oh, and a vacuum cleaner with a crevice tool. Anyway, after many trials, and lots of errors, it was done. Elvis (my kitty) looked great, and if you didn't squeeze him too hard, and ignored his body temperature (actually, lack of), you'd think he had just finished munching a mouse lunch (mostly cause there's still some blood or innards stains on his mouth, and, yeah, he's a him. That got pretty obvious when the air pressure built up).

There was still the allergy thing. Apparently cat dander is the problem. Something to do with the fur. A spray coat of lacquer took care of that, although the fur is still a little spiky. Kind of a Sid Vicious thing.

The next problem was getting a real life look. A cat with his back arched, fur standing, and claws extended doesn't invite a loving caress, and a docile, purring (yeah, he can purr, too.) tabby simply does not frighten off pesky salesman. I experimented with articulated joints and rubber facial implants, but it was too tricky. The metal joints started squeaking after a bit and kind of spoiled the realasticity ( this should be a word for plastic surgeons meaning realistic and elastic). The silicone facial implants started to droop like an old stripper's chest after almost no time at all. I knew I had to do something else after my best, my only, now my ex, friend, started calling Elvis "Hooters". A man and his pet deserve some respect I think, and this dork was being insulting. Anyway, I didn't need him anymore now that I had Elvis.

My solution to the realasticity problem was to get Elvis 2, Elvis 3, and Elvis 4. Now I have Elvises sitting, hissing, sleeping, and drinking from the milk dish. One of these days I may have one to stick in the neighbour's kid's sandbox. The old man is a colossal dick, and his kid deserves to be covered in sand, the little turd.

Oh yeah, about the purring. At radio supply stores you can pick up little bitty tape recorders that you can insert in the cat's.... well, to insert in any handy orifice. One recommendation. The sound of purring is more realistic from his head than from under his tail, but suit yourself. I suppose you could tape little cat farts instead of purring but that raises a whole other reality problem. Do cat farts have any odour and how do you simulate them, as if you wanted to? That would be pretty disgusting.


Well, that's my story. I hope it helps you to get a little pussy into your lonely life. Incidentally, I recently got interested in horseback riding, but found out that it's kind of dangerous, so guess what I did...... Right first try, I got me a horse. Some of the technology changes, but essentially the procedure is the same. The city fathers are on my case at the moment, though. Something about keeping a horse in a one bedroom apartment. Ah me. The problems are never- ending for an intellect like mine. Well, I've licked every little thing so far. Hmmmmm, some days I actually miss my Rotty.

Oh, one other matter, folks. This whole thing has given me quite an appetite for companionship so I'm now in the market for a wife. I'll even pay the shipping.
.......... An Ominous (1997)

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page