I read the news today. Oh, boy! Somewhere in the State section prison guards were tasering a cat.
"WROWR! Don't tase me bro!"
Yeah, this isn't the first time we've heard this story. Skip to the end: the cat died. Dr. Seuss didn't see that one coming, but we did. Thing
One and Thing Two are way too depressed to comment, let alone come out
and play. They didn't expect to see the cat die until a very cold hell
day. Fish made the mistake of hiding the taser in plastic diver on the
bottom of his bowl. Last night, the diver had a nocturnal discharge. They found Fish floating this morning.
Flush!
Ok, so maybe dead cat, poo fish isn't the same story we've all heard before. Right now an LA Times writer is comparing his crispy kitty to mine. "Nope, no plagiarism here." His story is about simple abuse for amusement. Mine is really just abuse. I'm sure nobody was amused. Least
of all dead Dr. Seuss and his illustrious illustrated menagerie. That's
ok, I didn't do anything that Jim Carey didn't already do to his
characters.
Dr.
Seuss isn't alone. I'm sure the OC prison cat didn't appreciate the
taser tag taking his ninth life. Probably in the same way you don't
like cat-gut in your divorce blog.
"What is this crap?" Yeah, you must be a new reader. Old readers are very familiar with the crap I write, and yet they come back for another taser jolt. Go figure. Believe it or not there is a point here. You just have to hold really still while I aim this pronged gun at your chest...
I spent my morning reading the paper. I haven't had time to do that in a while. That means this day shift thing is actually working. I'm not sure how, but I won't question progress.
The other thing is, I spent the morning thinking about the poor cat. Three
months ago, you could have shown me a story about Zuckerman's famous
pig making the best ham and eggs breakfast ever and I wouldn't have
noticed. I was too wrapped up in my problems.
"Screw the marvelous pig! I'm a fly on the wall of Charlotte's web and it's feeding time!"
Help Me!
Help Me!
I was unraveling then. I'm unwinding now. I see that Charlotte is not a black widow, she's just looking for a way to survive in this man's world. Snowball and Napoleon tried that; I wish Charlotte a better page in history.
See, with time comes the ability to distance yourself. I'd
like to say I'm getting wiser, and that I'll learn from all my
mistakes, but from the distance of hindsight, it's hard to tell one
Sneech from the other. Which Sneech is the mistake Sneech? I've got bad vision and I can't see the star-bellied bastards. Somebody give me a blow torch and I'll take them all out. Sneech fur burns hot.
"Timmy! No! Don't read the bloggers Sneech story."
AHHHH!
It's
too late for Timmy and the Sneeches, but it's not to late for the rest
of us. Eliminating the good is no better than reliving the bad. It
still leaves you empty. When I was a kid I read, Where the Red Fern Grows. I cried. I read it once a year, and every year Billy's dogs died. The only good news is that there were no tasers were involved.
But if Billy can relive the love for his dogs, I can relive my time with MyUnwife. Oh I won't dwell on it, but they were good memories. It's
just that now I have time for a future and space in my head to hang
tasered cats. If I clean the place up a bit, maybe I could show it to
somebody. Ok, probably not until I stop the cat and Sneech show, but It's all baby steps. I am getting better...
