A year ago, on my drive to Naples, I dropped my cat off at my parents' house.
The poor guy was there a full year before, well,....he disappeared.
You see he was like a pit bull - only loyal to one person, moi. He
Though he was declawed in the front, he particularly enjoyed parking himself in corridors and *swatting* at passers-by. He'd hiss as well, for dramatic effect. And once in a while he'd jump up and dig his teeth into the back of someone's calf - as they tried to scuttle past.
But he and I went a ways back. In fact he predated Mrs. C-Nut; we were just unprivileged friends in January of 1998 when this kitten was given to me. I used to always warn/threaten my wife...."DON'T MAKE ME CHOOSE. HE WAS HERE BEFORE YOU!!!"
Over the course of the past year it was obvious my mother was plotting *foul play*. Some months ago she sentenced my cat to her basement. Then, soon after, he was re-sentenced to my grandfather's jungle of a basement next door.
Last Friday I drove out my parents house to drop off my kids but there was no sign of the cat. My son asked for him:
Grandpa - Ahh....ahh...he's....he's on a farm now.
Yeah, so how exactly do you tell a 5 year old and his 3 year old sister, your grandchildren, that you offed their precious pet cat?
You just have to go with the consolatory farm myth, I guess.
Mind you, my parents didn't even tell me they did so; they didn't so much as mention a word about this dastardly, inhumane infeline act. Imagine that....sending someone else's pet upstate to Old MacDonald's without even giving them a chance to say goodbye!
So sometime this week, I went into the Prince's email account and sent this:
why did you kill my cat?
No doubt atremble, she wrote back:
I did not kill your cat. Your cat is in a nicer place where he can be free as opposed to being in nana's dark and gloomy cellar. I did not kill your cat.
Can you imagine that - a straight up lie served to her precious 5.20 year old grandson?!
The "Prince" wrote back:
but my dad said you killed him.
can we get him back? i really miss him.
And between this email and the next one, let's just say I busted a gut!
In MY inbox this afternoon, from my dear(?) mother came:
Stop being an ass......................
I emailed her back, calling her a *killer* and then....busted another gut laughing at what an absolute riot I am.
I generally tell people that my rock-hard abs are from *yoga* and whatnot.
But in actuality, they're from cracking myself up 19 hours straight, each and every day!