Purr Your Instructions...
Okay, so I’ve been goofy over cats in my lifetime.
If a cat beats me to a chair, I’ll usually sit on the floor. I didn’t blink when it cost $205 to put a permanent metal pin in Roxanne’s broken leg. Melissa and I keep a tacky chair in the living room because it was the comfort zone of Roxanne’s half-wild mother (Momma Kitty), who passed away more than seven years ago.
But – unlike the infamous Texas woman who went to great lengths to prolong her relationship with her late cat Nicky – I’m not spending $50,000 to clone one of my cats.
For one thing, a cloned cat may be an amazing facsimile of the real thing, but it ain’t the real thing. It’s more like an Elvis impersonator who licks himself. (“Hunka hunka burning hairball!”) Except instead of saying, “Thank you, thank you very much,” he asks, “So what have you done for me lately?”
Julie (no last name given) is ecstatic about cloned kitten Little Nicky. She claims he’s indistinguishable from the original -- same dark spots in the mouth, same love of water, same tendency to meow, “Help! Someone please get me out of this nut house!”
It’s a free country, but I must say Julie has a strange way of getting her jollies. (“I so enjoyed watching Nicky get feeble and die, I’m glad to start the whole process over again. *Sigh* Life would be perfect if I just had another appendix to remove!”)
How you spend your own money is up to you, but before forking over $50,000 for a cloned cat, be honest with yourself about three questions: (a) “Can I afford it?,” (b) “Could the money be better spent adopting strays?,” and (c) “If the roles were reversed and I kicked off first, how would the cat spend $50,000?”
You might ask how a cat would get $50,000 in the first place. Maybe the lottery would start issuing scratch-off drapes instead of scratch-off tickets. Or maybe the feline would win a paternity suit against Morris The Cat. (“He wasn’t so finicky after he had a few catnip daiquiris, believe you me.”)
Anyway, what would a cat with $50,000 and a deceased owner actually have to say?
* “Darn. The butler forgot to buy kitty litter. Get some of those ashes from that urn.”
* I want all these trees done up with those airplane emergency slides.”
* “I’m hiring a good lawyer for a million-dollar defamation of character suit about all these slanderous ‘stealing a baby’s breath’ charges.”
* “I’m puttin’ in fake doggie doors. Those mutts are gonna help me win on ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos.’”
* “How would ‘Ol’ What’s His Name’ look on my master’s grave marker?”
* “I’m staying at the Ritz Carlton, and I want a king-size bed of clean laundry.”
* “I’m hiring a lobbyist to campaign for a 40-hour work lifetime.”
* “Fertility drugs! I want fertility drugs!”
Still, you may have that one cat in a million that would opt to bring you back and continue your friendship. There’s not really anything I can add to that sweet sentiment.
So, this week’s “Tyrades!” curtain is coming down. The fat lady has sung. Elvis has left the building. No, wait -- he came back in. No, wait – he went out again. No, now he’s…
Published in newspapers the week of December 26, 2004.
If a cat beats me to a chair, I’ll usually sit on the floor. I didn’t blink when it cost $205 to put a permanent metal pin in Roxanne’s broken leg. Melissa and I keep a tacky chair in the living room because it was the comfort zone of Roxanne’s half-wild mother (Momma Kitty), who passed away more than seven years ago.
But – unlike the infamous Texas woman who went to great lengths to prolong her relationship with her late cat Nicky – I’m not spending $50,000 to clone one of my cats.
For one thing, a cloned cat may be an amazing facsimile of the real thing, but it ain’t the real thing. It’s more like an Elvis impersonator who licks himself. (“Hunka hunka burning hairball!”) Except instead of saying, “Thank you, thank you very much,” he asks, “So what have you done for me lately?”
Julie (no last name given) is ecstatic about cloned kitten Little Nicky. She claims he’s indistinguishable from the original -- same dark spots in the mouth, same love of water, same tendency to meow, “Help! Someone please get me out of this nut house!”
It’s a free country, but I must say Julie has a strange way of getting her jollies. (“I so enjoyed watching Nicky get feeble and die, I’m glad to start the whole process over again. *Sigh* Life would be perfect if I just had another appendix to remove!”)
How you spend your own money is up to you, but before forking over $50,000 for a cloned cat, be honest with yourself about three questions: (a) “Can I afford it?,” (b) “Could the money be better spent adopting strays?,” and (c) “If the roles were reversed and I kicked off first, how would the cat spend $50,000?”
You might ask how a cat would get $50,000 in the first place. Maybe the lottery would start issuing scratch-off drapes instead of scratch-off tickets. Or maybe the feline would win a paternity suit against Morris The Cat. (“He wasn’t so finicky after he had a few catnip daiquiris, believe you me.”)
Anyway, what would a cat with $50,000 and a deceased owner actually have to say?
* “Darn. The butler forgot to buy kitty litter. Get some of those ashes from that urn.”
* I want all these trees done up with those airplane emergency slides.”
* “I’m hiring a good lawyer for a million-dollar defamation of character suit about all these slanderous ‘stealing a baby’s breath’ charges.”
* “I’m puttin’ in fake doggie doors. Those mutts are gonna help me win on ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos.’”
* “How would ‘Ol’ What’s His Name’ look on my master’s grave marker?”
* “I’m staying at the Ritz Carlton, and I want a king-size bed of clean laundry.”
* “I’m hiring a lobbyist to campaign for a 40-hour work lifetime.”
* “Fertility drugs! I want fertility drugs!”
Still, you may have that one cat in a million that would opt to bring you back and continue your friendship. There’s not really anything I can add to that sweet sentiment.
So, this week’s “Tyrades!” curtain is coming down. The fat lady has sung. Elvis has left the building. No, wait -- he came back in. No, wait – he went out again. No, now he’s…
Published in newspapers the week of December 26, 2004.
posted by Danny Tyree at 3:01 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home