Good news, indeed! Enjoy! Now, where did I put my glass!?
Tucked in between “news articles” about alien abductions and man-eating butterflies on the World News Daily Report, I found this gem hidden away. Long story short, it claims that an elderly lady trained her cats to steal jewelry from her neighbors; the epitome of “cat burglars.”
I admit, there is a part of me that wishes this was a true story. I could absolutely get on board with training my cats to do cool things other than bringing me dead bugs. Let’s face it, though; cats only do what they want to do, and it always involves a smug, self-serving attitude and a “what’s in it for me” end goal.
I can see me, 20 years from now, in full Crazy Cat Lady mode. I’d train my cats to do things like weed my garden, mow my lawn, put away the dishes, and fold the laundry. In my fantasy, I am the ruler of the roost, the commander of the cats, the kitty whisperer. The truth is, I live to serve my cats. They have me so well trained that I respond to the smallest puking noises they make, even from a dead sleep. I have given all of my furniture to them to use as thrones, perches, or beds. I believe all of the cat food commercials I see, and my cats eat better than I do. I clean litter boxes religiously and keep lint rollers to clean off the clothing that my cats allow me to wear when they aren’t using it as a bed.
On that note, the article makes me laugh when it references that these cats were voluntarily malnourished; apparently, according to the report, they deliberately made themselves seem skinny and underfed so that people would take them in to their homes to feed them. After the neighbors opened their hearts and homes to the skeletal felines, the cats would abscond with anything of value. Only then would the elderly cat-keeper reward them with food.
Really? If I tried to train my cats this way, they would laugh at me. “What’s in it for me? Better make it worth my while. And don’t even think about not feeding us, we know where the treats are. More important, we know where you sleep.”
Now I have no doubt that a cat COULD think of this clever scheme. The only thing that keeps cats from taking over the world is the lack of opposable thumbs. But would they really want to? And perhaps therein lies the real reason cats don’t rule world…they simply can’t be bothered.
Let’s review the cons against this whole organized feline crime spree:
Now, let’s review the reasons cats would voluntarily choose to do something, heck anything, at all:
Lastly, let’s consider the odds of a cat being trained by a human to do something that he does not already want to do:
As much as I wish this story could be true, I think this will forever be relegated to the land of satire.
And that’s probably a good thing.
Catnip? No, I haven’t been doing catnip. I haven’t even seen any catnip. You’ve got the wrong cat, lady.
In route between my little town and the next biggest town – keeping in mind, over here, these size estimations are all relative – is a billboard advertising a casino located one state over. The message on this billboard changes monthly and often depends on who the headlining entertainer is or what the latest “jackpot” includes, such as $3 million and an SUV, or some such thing. Anyway, this month’s message is “My casino is my family…” and it had a woman surrounded by happy, smiling, hugging people – presumably casino employees.
On our first drive by this new sign, without missing a beat, my daughter, ever the smart-ass intelligent woman stated “If your casino is your family, then you have a problem. Cause that sounds like an addiction. That’s not a billboard for a casino, that’s a cry for help right there.” Then, having voiced this sage observation, she went back to looking at her phone without another word.
Although her perfect, deadpan delivery doesn’t translate well to the written word, I’m telling you, this girl has a serious shot at a successful stand-up career.
While we wait for my daughter’s future to manifest, I’ll leave you with some words of wisdom from the queen of deadpan herself, Margaret Smith.
You know, there is really nothing like a trip to the grocery store — with all that entails, including the ill-mannered, deliberately slow-moving people in the aisles and the rude people at the check-out and the downright annoying people in the parking lot hell-bent on their
suicidal mission game of chicken — to make you truly understand that you still have a long way to go in realizing your goal of being a “good person.”
Ah, well. Tomorrow is another day.
I am creative. I am powerful. I am woman, hear me roar. I am also just a tad forgetful. Like “forget what I had for breakfast while the fork is still in my hand” forgetful. I need to document my thoughts while I am out and about or they will be forever forgotten in the vast jungle of my mind.
What do you do if your mind is a sieve? If you’re anything like me, you send notes via text to yourself to remember ideas, appointments, and events. If it’s not written down, I can forget a thought quicker than anyone else I know. I was going to suggest an Olympic Sport called Speed Forgetting, but I forgot to mail the letter.
Yesterday evening, I was looking through my text messages for something and came across this message I sent myself over a week ago. Check this out:
“The eyes are the windows to the soul. Sometimes they reflect a vision of hell.”
Wow. What a deep thought. What a great lead in to an unforgettable blog post.
Too bad I cannot recall for the life of me what I was thinking when I wrote it. Or where I was, or what I was doing.
This cryptic line seems to be the beginning of a wonderful biopic journal of my life’s journey. It is a cool line for the first sentence of a horror story. It could have been what I thought when I woke up one morning and saw bags and dark circles under my eyes after spending a sleepless night trying to remember my Great-Grandmother’s middle name.
I have absolutely no idea why I sent that to myself. At all. Was it because of an instance of animal cruelty that I’ve seen? People suck, I’ve said that often…because they do, and it’s very possible that an incident of animal cruelty prompted that comment to myself. It’s equally possible that the stories about school shootings or perhaps a news story of a child abuse victim or domestic abuse victim set me off. Or, the amazing line could have come to me as I was watching a poor retailer slog through a transaction with a customer who was acting like a complete asshole, or a woman who realized she was wearing white after Labor Day.
The world may never know.
The way my swiss cheese brain works is a mystery, even to myself. There are just so many versions of hell, and everyone you meet everywhere has their own personal hell. For some, hell might be driving to work. Someone else’s hell may be dealing with their cable company (and I suspect the cable guy has a few versions of hell as well). The upper class may think it is hell dealing with the butler, and the butler sure as heck knows it’s hell dealing with his snobby boss. The lower class sees the hell of poverty and sadness every day, and the middle class thinks it is hell to have to pay taxes to help the poor through that particular hell. A child thinks hell is when school is not cancelled for a snow day; the teachers probably agree with that version of hell and the parents may, too. Hell is not being able to use that amazing word in Words with Friends that you really want to use, or my personal favorite, forgetting why I walked into a room.
So many meanings of hell. So many possible reasons for my amazingly creative phrase. Such a shame to have such severe short term…and long term, apparently…memory loss that I cannot recall the moment this profound statement was imagined.
Think about it. “The eyes are the windows to the soul. Sometimes they reflect a vision of hell.” I want you to consider this phrase carefully. I want you to ponder it deeply. Repeat it over and over.
And then, can you please tell me what the hell I was thinking!?
So. I got an email from Etsy today. You might not think this about me, but I love Etsy. However, this latest email had me questioning…myself, not them. Specifically, I had issues with the subject line. In this particular case, issues = confusion.
The subject line was: Start Double Tapping.
Now, as it turns out, what they meant was “double clicking” on the photo links, or in other words, buying stuff.
What yours truly took away from that subject line: Get ready for the zombie apocalypse. I’m not sure what that says about me.