Jun 28, 2008

Tales of the kitty

By Malcolm Fleschner / Humor Columnist

There are a few telltale signs to indicate that your favorite local newspaper columnist has begun running out of column ideas. Some of the most common giveaways are:

- Columns now frequently consist of lists of jokes the columnist "got off the Internet."

- Where the columnist once tackled the most controversial political issues of the day, now he or she mostly comments on the weather.

- Each new column includes yet another complaint about how the neighbor's kids need to stay off his lawn.

- He writes columns on the subject of running out of ideas.

But no doubt the surest sign that the column idea-generating well has run dry is when a columnist starts writing about his or her pets. Honestly, we all love our own pets, but most of us have about as much interest in hearing about other people's pets as we do in hearing detailed descriptions of their dreams.

"Wow, so in your dream you were walking around your house, but it didn't really look like your house? But it was still your house? Fascinating, do go on."

It's the same way with pets. No doubt you think it's incredibly cute and special the way your beloved Mr. Whiskers likes to hop up on your lap and interrupt you when you're trying to read the newspaper or how little Bowzer barks uncontrollably at the TV whenever a squirrel appears on the screen. But the truth is that the rest of us have little interest in hearing about it and don't think Mr. Whiskers and Bowzer are all that special. Unless they're fish, that is.

So as I was saying, a columnist really has to be out of ideas to start writing about his pets. Which is precisely what I was thinking about this morning when, just as I was about to come up with a topic for this week's column, I was interrupted by the hungry mewling of our cat, Bofey Quinn.

Bofey is named after a heavy-set Irish pub owner my wife once knew, and she certainly shares his unflagging enthusiasm for dining. Even at 14, despite having been served the same bowl of dry kibble for approximately 8,500 straight meals, Bofey still purrs loudly while she eats, as if to say, "Mmm, this is good kibble. What's your secret ingredient — is it ground soy protein? Well whatever it is, it's another gastronomic tour de force. My compliments to the chef!"

While Bofey is usually perfectly happy with her kibble, she does occasionally expand her diet by sneaking outside to munch on grass. But Bofey's stomach must understand her dietary preferences better than she does because once she's inside again, the grass comes right back up, along with any remnants of semi-digested food, matted cat hair, tin cans and anything else that happened to be occupying her stomach at the time.

But releasing material from somewhere along the digestive tract is, of course, cats' favorite means of letting humans know when we've interrupted their cherished routine. In this case, by vomiting all over the sofa, the bedspread or the signed first edition copy of "The Catcher in the Rye" we've carelessly left lying around, Bofey is reprimanding us for neglecting to close the back door, which gave her no option but to go outside and eat something that is not, technically speaking, food. Bad humans!

Cats' dedication to routine isn't limited to diet, either. My wife likes to relate the story of a cat-owning friend who would sometimes make overnight trips out of town to visit her boyfriend. The cat that, it goes without saying, had no use for the boyfriend, left clear messages expressing its displeasure at these unexcused absences. One night away was met with a single "expression" in front of the apartment door, so that opening the door effectively "spread the message" in a looping arc across the carpet.

For a two-night stay, the doorfront message was augmented by a second message in the kitchen sink. A three-night absence was met with an impressive act of feline gymnastics, as the cat's owner would return home to find an unusually lengthy "message" running along the precise center of the telephone receiver. "She always tried not to be away for more than two nights," is how my wife typically concludes this story, leaving to the listener's imagination just what punishment this cat would have conceived for a two-week vacation - perhaps something involving the ceiling fan.

Well, unfortunately, it appears Bofey's interruption has kept me from thinking of a clever, thought-provoking topic to write about this week. But that's OK, because her mewling just reminded me of an idea for my next column. Come back next week and you can hear all about a dream I had that Bofey was in but - get this - it didn't really look like her.


Readers eager to get back at Malcolm by sharing their own enchanting pet stories can address e-mails to Malcolm@CultureShlock.com.