This is my first blog.
Everybody is busy preparing for the holiday weekend. I was like, what about the blog? And they were like, why don’t you write it? Then they were all ha,ha, like I couldn't do it. Well I can. I just don’t see why they can’t. Cats don’t celebrate Easter.
|Please just shoot me.|
We don’t celebrate any holidays. We like yours because you get drunk and toss us bits of exotic food we usually don’t get. Some of it we like, some of it we bat around the floor until it goes under the refrigerator. But still, human holidays are benign to us, except for costumes. That is our cross to bear. Get it, our cross to bear? That's an Easter joke. OK, moving on.
|Humans used to be on the holiday menu.|
Let me apologize on behalf of the feline species. In case
you're wondering, rumor has it you all taste like chicken.
We do try to figure out what you are thinking, though. I mean, what do colored eggs and candy have to do with Jesus? Was ham with scalloped potatoes on the menu at the Last Supper? And what’s with the rabbits? Now real rabbits I can understand. The baby ones are real tasty and fun to catch. But you don’t serve rabbits, you serve pig. You dress like rabbits and take pictures of your kids with rabbits and put fake rabbits on your end table, but then you eat pork. Frankly, that’s a poser.
I think it is interesting that pagan and Roman holidays coincide beautifully with Christian holidays. Isn’t that curious? I suppose I shouldn’t mention the Romans. Before Christianity took hold, they used to serve the faithful to the lions on holidays. Things have gotten better, right? I guess I should feel some guilt about that, but I am not the same kind of feline, and I have never eaten a human. I don’t expect that I will grow large enough to do so, but just in case, feel free to have that second helping of scalloped potatoes. Ha Ha, just kidding.
I can describe a good cat holiday. We finally catch the mouse we have heard running inside the ceiling tiles in the basement for four days. We play with it until it won’t move anymore. We take a nap and go back to see if we can make it move again. When we realize that it won’t, we strategically place it where you will be sure to step on it with bare feet first thing in the morning. Then we go see if you have put any kibble in the bowl. Finally, we take another well-deserved nap in a sunbeam. Now that is a perfect cat day, one worthy of celebration. It doesn't happen regularly, but when it does happen it’s special.
|Congresswoman Bachmann's new exercise program|
involves regularly running away from Dana Bash. Ms.
Bachmann is a devout Christian who tells whopping
lies in public. I haven't figured that one out either.
At this point I should probably offer some political insight. Hey, did you see Michelle Bachmann running away from Dana Bash again? Women who can move like that in high heels are amazing. It’s beginning to become a tradition, like a holiday. Michelle tells a bunch of lies, then Dana chases her down the hall with a microphone. Michelle is doing the 100 yard Bash. Get it? The 100 yard Bash! That’s a good joke. This blog stuff isn't so hard.
|The Easter Bunny may be late this year.|
I don't think dogs understand holiday traditions
either. Is this why you have to eat the pig?
So I guess I will end by saying I hope you enjoy your solstice celebration, however you choose to go about it. I wish you joy on this happy Spring occasion. Maybe next year you could serve salmon?
Peace and Love,