I’m pretty sure without cats, Facebook wouldn’t exist.
Everyone loves a good cat video.
Especially cats that terrorize dogs…or people…or whatever else walks into the room.
One night, a week or so ago, I was sound asleep in my bed—as opposed to behind the 7-11, where I usually sleep during the day—and I was startled awake by the most god-awful sound I had ever heard.
For a second I thought a raccoon had dropped out of the ceiling and was wrestling with Z…again.
Z is prone to making a similar sound whenever wildlife drops down from the attic.
I immediately jumped up out of the bed, ready to grab the baseball bat I keep hidden in the closet, behind the plastic container of old clothes, under the pile of less old clothes and Reader’s Digests I keep on hand, you know, just in case I have to do some sort of DIY work, that requires I wear clothes that are routinely rejected by the Salvation Army.
Of course this container of old clothes and all the rest is also buried under a box that contains all of my discarded phone wire, and cable connections, not to mention my old Mulder and Scully Star Tac phone from 1995...so it's not all that easy to get to.
But, nevertheless, I was prepared to grab the bat...no matter how long it took me to dig it out…
I was that concerned.
Turns out there was no need.
The Thunder Dome/Death Match squeals I heard were merely originating from one of those, 5 gazillion “Likes”, 20 bazillion “Shares” whimsical Facebook videos that someone put together, complete with music, of cats torturing dogs…merely by passively sitting on the stairs or in a narrow hallway and daring the dog to pass, with only the threat of a pointed cat swipe hanging between them.
Which you might think is silly, and not a threat at all…but you would be wrong, because the passive implied threat is ten thousand times worse than the actual act itself, which is at least something you can deal with and move on. Plus I do feel for the dogs, because I have to deal with a similar passive implied threat situation, every Saturday and Sunday morning any time I try to enter the kitchen, while Z is cutting out coupons.
So there’s Z, in the middle of the night, chuckling at these howling cats and dogs acting like…well cats and dogs.
“Don’t you know it’s the middle of the night?” I say in the kindest, gentlest of tones. “Can’t you do that someplace else?”
“Oh you’re so 1990’s!” is the response she gives me in return.
So, what choice do I have? I just rollover and suffocate myself with my 1990’s buckwheat pillow in the useless attempt to muffle the cat screeches and dog howls.
But I also know Z is right…I am so 1990’s. A time when folks actually had to open a book or at least....
Retort to the Retort - FreelanceRetort@gmail.com