Max is sitting on my chest as I pretend to sleep.
“Wake up, Bozo” he begins to shout. “It is a proven
alternative fact that there are thousands of feline refugees who are crossing
our borders daily.”
(Note to self: change the password to my computer and shut it
down completely when I go to bed at night.)
“These cats are sneaking in. Oh hell, some of them are
crossing the borders brazenly, sauntering in like they have the inalienable
right to be here. Most of them have not been properly vetted. In fact, many of
them have never seen a vet in their lives,” he continues.
I reach down and push him off me: no easy task, and a big
mistake. He is a big boy with claws that obviously need trimming. Thankfully, I
own bandages and disinfectant.
I roll onto my side. Suddenly there is this cute little face
in mine. “As America’s great spokescat, Kittyanne Catway said, these felines
are here for one reason and one reason only, and that is to spread terror. They
bring with them mange and worms and other really bad things.”
Max stops and takes a breath. For a moment, a brief and
brilliant moment, I have delusional dreams of falling back asleep.
The loud, obnoxious voice continues, “They want CCF (canned
cat food). They will do anything to get some. They must be stopped. We must all
do our part to stop them. America’s supply of CCF is in danger, grave danger.
DO SOMETHING NOW!!!”
With deep remorse, I arrive at the conclusion that my night is
over. I need to get up and tend to my wounds.
Oh, and give Max his morning treat of CCF.
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