Journey of Pain

These monkeys are never satisfied. I had a perfectly decent life in whatever box we were in before. Lo and behold, after several days of odd activity, the puffy-haired bi-ped put me in his miniature box with wheels and proceeded to lock me in there against my will for days. The window pictures in the box changed constantly, other boxes rolling by left and right, other monkeys walking around under the trees and eating sandwiches. What was the problem with the last box we were in?

Finally, ages later, we end up at some new box that is totally different than the last one. I have to start working all over again casing the place, looking for potential hazards and exits, and to finally take a #2. Do you know that as soon as we get put in that moving box, my back end parts refuse to let me #2, regardless of the obvious need? It’s like a tailpipe with a potato stuck in the back, not a good thing. The monkey looks at me and says “there’s your boxy-box kitty-boo, you can go kitty-poo whenever you want.” Right, thanks genius. I’ll be sure to do that when my butt says it's OK.

On the bright side, I do have more territory in this new box. It has a couple other feline prisoners and monkeys, so at least I have someone to talk about and then ignore. One of them seems familiar, but maybe from a past life. One of them still has his precious parts, and has decided to let the monkeys know it by spreading bits of himself all over most all of the furniture and carpet. Go, my furry brother, stick it to the captors, maybe they’ll get fed up and open the door and you can live free, something most of us velvety house-residents have lost the ire to do. If you get a virus or get squashed by a train, tell the Great Whisker hello for me. But for now, we must survive, like POW's behind enemy lines, eating crunchy bits and praying for the day the war will end.

I Want My Junk Back

Seriously, what you gives you the right? Just because your little world will be harder to take with more of us around, you think you can just go around chopping and slicing left and right? Oh, sure, I’ll bet you’re trying to control population so more of us don’t end up starving on the street corner or getting squashed by Mack trucks in underpasses and eaten by the homeless. Thanks, way to be progressive. How the heck are we ever going to reach species equality if you’re still snatching our bits left and right and denying us the choice to create more of ourselves should we so choose?

OK, granted, if I had the chance, I’d go out and try to "forward my family line" with every good looking Tortie I could find. Sorry, it’s just the instinct. But that’s never going to happen. Ever. You know how that feels? To never be able to reach your full potential, to fulfill your evolutionary purpose? I have some really novel ideas, and I’m sure my many mates would be just as brilliant - think of the litter of mewing Einsteins we could have spawned!

So, I guess you guys get to go out and mattress dance your way into overpopulation all day long? Maybe you oughta think about snipping of few of your own fellow monkeys to keep ‘em from weighing down the planet - start with the Cat Show People, they need a break, if you know what I mean. Then move on to the ones who still buy cheese in a compressed can who are not Pauly Shore.

Not to rant, but let’s face facts - I lost my Tom Cat potential the moment you picked me out of the pound and handed me over to the Oyster Butcher. When was I going to be consulted on this? What if I had explained my side of the story, or pointed out the hypocrisy of the situation? I could lodge a complaint to my local senator, or hire an attorney. The Case: the Los Angeles City Pound vs. Merlin’s Cajones.

Be sure of one thing, population slicers: when the tables turn and you guys are at the end of the leash, we’re gonna go medieval on your Homo Sapien asses. You can carry your equipment home in a doggy bag, or you can hire a doggy to carry ‘em for you for 100 Gato Diram or Bastet Bucks - we’re going to at least give them a chance to appeal to the courts why more dogs is in anybody’s best interest. Muttnik again, anybody?

R.I.P. my fallen soldiers - may we be reunited again at the paws of the Great Whisker.

Meat should be made in a petri dish

OK, so first, I'm a carnivore, not by choice, but by design. It's just how I came out; maybe your litter had a brother or sister who just wasn't down with the cutlets in gravy, but man I can dig it. But we all know that these big hairless apes are royally funking our precious planet up with their mass-produced-profit-driven-everything, and "animal products" are no exception. I'm even an "animal product" in some countries, if you can believe it. Wouldn't eat me if I was bigger than you, would ya, Mister, huh? Oh, wait, then you'd chop off my precious and make some sort of wacked out soup out of it. I'll let you in on a secret: it's not going to make you any bigger!

But I digress; what I'm saying is, despite my hatred of the monkey oppressors and their psuedo-morals, I do want our little slice of heaven, the planet Earth, to live a long, healthy life. I mean, we've got to launch our Cat Cosmonaut Crusade into the farthest reaches of space from somewhere. You may not know it, but the meat-production industry is mucking up the natural world. So, since we (and I include myself here with the bi-peds) need/want to consume the sliced and diced flanks of other animals, why not harness currently employed technology to save our planet wear and tear and feed ourselves cheaply and deliciously at the same time? You know what I'm talking about, and Arnold is on board with me. We should grow our meat from stem cells. En masse!

So you've got morals, emotions, sympathies for those poor beings grown simply so they can be laid in between a bun or wrapped up in a taco? Me too; like I said, could've been me - for all I know, I'm eating pieces of cat in my Fancy Feast. So let's remove the parts that make everybody sad; Brains! And faces, too, ya know, the eyes, windows to the soul, all that crystal-gazer-flappity-dap. Just grow large quantities of the "producing" sections of the delicious animals that we all seem to enjoy so well, and continue your eating habits, conscience clear. So you've got this big ol' factory filled with stem cell machines engineering flanks of cow and pig and chicken and horse and human, and all these bits then go to the appropriate "processing plants" where they get ready for the market, and you're set! You can even create NEW MEATS! Can you imagine that? You could eat a burger made from the new flavor of "animal," the Funkatronic Homeslice Wedgie Muncher Moose Duck Face!

Jobs on factory farms transfer to jobs in stem cell yummy-factories and the economy balances out. Cows and chickens and pigs become pets, people continue to eat food that makes them into fat-asses and everybody wins! Even me, the lowly house cat continues to chow down on my government grade F meat product that the cheap-o with the curly hair buys me in bulk. Seriously dude, the reason I throw it up in the middle of the night is because it was probably already thrown up by SOMEBODY ELSE. Would it kill you to splurge on the stuff with the shiny packaging and organic ingredients? What a tight-wad; when we take over, his dumb ass is gonna be the first sacrifice to the Great Whisker.

Anyhow, dear readers, think it over next time you're punching that chad out of the ballot. Vote YES on Rep. Merlin's (Cat Independent Party) bill allocating funding towards the much needed advancement in the inevitable marriage of stem cells and BBQ and baloney. It's not like it's going to have side effects or anything....what are you, Anti-American???