Sat., May 22, 1999

"And when Old Deuteronomy sang 'What's New, Pussycat?' female disciples in the audience felt the power of the Feline come over them; they would ecstatically peel off the mice that were living under their skirts; and they would throw these mice upon the stage, often accompanied by the keys to their hotel rooms; and Old Deuteronomy would think, 'Well, MEOW, baby!!'...." - The Origins of Webberanity, MSNBCBSSENTERPRISE Books, Inc., Second Edition, Spring Catalog - 2155 A.D./136 A.W.

    Just for the record, yesterday's magic continued well into the evening.  I had the privilege of mowing my 50,000-acre west lawn for the sixth time this year under the most nearly perfect skies yet, then still had enough energy left over to plant begonias, cleome, blue fescue, and a golden daisy-like thing called gazania before grabbing a late dinner at Applebee's Restaurant and Waitress Hang-Out.
    Perhaps most incredible of all: I actually found money in the parking lot.  A whole $10!  First time I've found orphan bill money in 30 years, and last time it was just a buck.  Even adjusting for inflation, I figure I did pretty good.  I even got to bring the cash home with me after not one person in the packed restaurant could accurately describe the bill to my satisfaction, let alone produce a photo of them and their allegedly beloved moola back in happier times.
    Some people must think I was born yesterday even though it's obvious that the pacifier I suck on is one only an adult could afford.

    Tomorrow looks to be good, too.  I'm going to go see a play!  Might not be quite as enjoyable as the Target discount store flyer I received with my newspaper two Sundays ago, but then what would be?
    That Target flyer contained an actual photo of a swivel wastebasket.  First one of those I've ever seen and oh, it was soooo cute!  In fact, it still is, since I clipped it, laminated it, and have it on display now in my office.  A semi-transparent neon blue plastic basket jauntily cocked to one side atop a sensually-curved oh-so-black base.  A work of art even apart from the labor saving possibilities inherent in a trash receptacle which seems to positively yearn for the next tossed wad of paper, worn-out scalpel, or CD which has been drained of its music.
    And only $7!!
    If the nearest Target store wasn't over an hour away, I'd have gotten myself one of these modern marvels by now and be sharing all this with it instead of with the Web.  Poor me.  Poor you!    

    That leaves today sandwiched between a golden yesterday and a promising tomorrow.  Sad to say, today sucks.
    It started off with my finding a fresh newspaper article nailed to my bedroom door.  (I knew it was fresh because the nail holding it went right through all 95 theses Martin Luther had mistakenly nailed there back in 1516.)  The following line in it was highlighted:

    A survey by the American Association of Animal Hospitals reveals that 7 in 10 pet owners treat their animals like children.

    "Jester!" I called.  Jester, you might recall, is the cat I happen to live with.  Since my wife's habit is to nail my ass and not my door, I knew Jess must have been the one responsible.  The subject matter could be seen as pointing in his general direction, too.
    "Meow!" he darted over and began begging me for milk exactly as if it were just any other day.
    "Do you want to be treated as an adult instead of a child?  Is that it?"
    He threateningly licked his paw - definitely a resounding "YES!"
    "Alright.  OK.  I'll start treating you like an adult.  Beginning right now!"
    I reached for the Yellow Pages and let my fingers do the walking straight to The Allen County Department of Addiction Services and Water Main Breaks.
    (About that name: I'm told recent cutbacks have resulted in a few consolidations of county services, but I suspect that this specific merger actually came about because of some particularly hot interoffice love affair.  Fools.)
    Why was I calling The ACDASWMB, anyway?  Because a few weeks ago I began giving Jess a small amount of lactose-free milk in the mornings.  Big mistake!  What started as an innocent attempt to inject some joy into his otherwise Dan-marred life quickly escalated into my having to fork over the goods by the gallon in order to avoid savage head butting and ear-piercing glares.  I'd come to suspect full-blown addiction had set in, but I'd been willing to let it go.  Milk, after all, was a relatively harmless drug, and I simply did not believe it when I was warned that it inevitably led to butter mainlining, bovine kidnapping, and nine lives spent in a dairy-products-induced haze in the secret White Rooms of Chinese ice cream stands in the worst parts of town.  But that was when I thought ignoring my cat as if he were my child was the thing to do.  If he demanded that I treat him like a big, impossible to overlook adult, well then, a big, impossible to overlook adult he would be treated as since I can deny the little beast nothing.
    "Yes," I began even before someone answered at the other end.  "I have this friend I'm worried about.  Let's call him... Jester.  I'm afraid Jester might be an addict, a junkie, a doper.  He might even be a tripper, a hopeless freak, a hepped-up drug fiend who'd drive over his own grandmother for a micro-ounce hit of Monkberry Moon Delight - I just don't know."
    "Has your... 'friend'... ever tried to stop his drug of choice for a week, only to go back to it in a matter of days?" a lady's voice asked, mechanically.  Although she'd missed the start of my call, it seemed a tale with which she was only too familiar.  My town does have a lot of cats, after all.
    "Days?  Jess can't get by 25 hours without a fix!"
    "Does he need a fix to get started in the mornings, or to stop shaking?"
    "Yes!  Exactly!!"
    "Is your 'friend' moody and irritable when he doesn't get his fix?"
    "What the hell do you mean?!" I barked, wondering if she's ever met a cat which wasn't moody and irritable most of the time.
    "Does your 'friend' envy those who can indulge without getting into trouble?"
    "Oh, yesssss," I sighed with feeling, thinking of the many hours Jess has spent watching my wife downing whatever she wanted without my swatting her butt off the kitchen counter.
    "Have there been any black-outs?"
    "Ummm, yes, I think so," I admitted, remembering the time Jess was running towards my office window, then fell down and began napping in mid-stride as I was at my desk proof-reading a recent entry aloud.
    "Any noticeable speech slurring?"
    "Yeff!  I mean, YES!!" I exclaimed, excitedly recalling the strange caterwauling Jess greeted me with just last night as I was making my way to the cupboard in the dark to silence a chocolate chip cookie that had been mercilessly keeping me awake.
    "Has your 'friend's' relationships been affected yet?"
    "They're about to be if he doesn't get off my head," I made clear in my sternest of tones.
    "So... there are hallucinations?"
    "If chasing things that aren't there is a sign that you're hallucinating, I guess so," I agreed.  "Now leave my ears ALONE!"
    "Sir... Sir...  Listen to me.  We need to conduct what's called an intervention.  You need to gather your - ummm, I mean Jess's friends and lovingly confront him as a group so he can start on the path to recovery - ok?  We're here to help you...."
    "Ok," I nodded as well as I could with a 17-pound mound of claw-equipped fur upsetting the natural balance of my cranium.  I carefully bent down and picked up Jess's catnip-stuffed lobster.  "'We want to help you, Jess,'" I said in my best little stuffed lobster voice, waving my pet's beloved buddy right in front of his face.
    "Sir...  Sir, what's your address?  Think, Sir.  And try to enunciate clearly.  Hurry!"
    "GODDAMN IT!" I screamed as 5 claws and two teeth missed Mr. Lobster's dangling antenna and found my shell-less wrist instead.
    "Sir, we're only trying to help."
    I slammed the phone down and confronted Jess, mano a mano.
    "Make up your fricking mind!  Do you want to be treated like an adult or NOT?!"
    "Mew," Jess hung his head down over my eyebrows, looked deep into my eyes, and melted my heart.
    "Fine," I sighed, encouraging him to climb down off my weary skull by plopping a fresh bucket of the undiluted white stuff next to his basket.  "Just don't try shifting gears on me again - ok?"
    "Sure, yeah, whatever - just get OUTA MY WAY!!"
    SSSSLLLLLLLUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!
    I smiled through my pain - I couldn't help it.  It really was cute the way the little guy could suck a moo cow dry in 6.3 seconds.
    In fact, I was suddenly overwhelmed by admiration, affection,  and, yes - even love.
    Then a brief moment of sanity returned and I filched the hammer and nails I spied under his basket and made a note to myself to cancel his newspaper subscription first thing Monday morning.

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(All Material Not An Obvious Rip-Off Of Some Other Aspect Of Western Civilization © 1999 by Dan Birtcher)