HER CAT MUST BE AWESOME
© 2010 Mike McGee

She has to get home to feed her cat and I’m thinking, ‘Your cat is fine. It will survive a night without you.’

She says, “He can’t be alone overnight.”

I tell her I feel the same way all the time. And I actually have something to offer the world.

She says her cat’s special. It sounds like he’s saying ‘Reno’ when he meows.

“Reno?” I ask. As in “Reno, Nevada?”

“Yep.” She says emphatically. “Reno.”

“All the time? As in every time it meows?”

“No, only every once in a while, like when he’s really craving attention or needs to be brushed.”

“Oh.” I say. Oh.

I tell her that when I’m craving attention, I take my shirt off, exposing the Katherine Hepburn-shaped birthmark on my stomach and make it talk: ‘Hello, everybody! Got any more tequila?’

I just met you and I by now you must realize I am human and I have needs and I can love you, actually love you. I’m not jumping the gun here, but I am capable of real love, not this programmed feline, ‘you’re the keeper of the food, so I guess I’ll stick around,’ bullshit.

Does your cat have the ability to make a room laugh without it having anything to do with its own failure? Can it use a QWERTY keyboard? Does it understand how to code even a modicum of HTML? Can it Photoshop images of you to look like you have a handlebar mustache? I don’t thinks so!

I can do half of those things while I have soup cooking on the stove. See these thumbs!? Do you? DO YOU!!? These mean I win.

“You’re right.” She says coyly. And we boned right there at Taco Bell. Nine months later, we had 8 kittens.

They run my website now.
———
Word to the nerd.
Bunny up.

HER CAT MUST BE AWESOME
© 2010 Mike McGee

She has to get home to feed her cat and I’m thinking, ‘Your cat is fine. It will survive a night without you.’

She says, “He can’t be alone overnight.”

I tell her I feel the same way all the time. And I actually have something to offer the world.

She says her cat’s special. It sounds like he’s saying ‘Reno’ when he meows.

“Reno?” I ask. As in “Reno, Nevada?”

“Yep.” She says emphatically. “Reno.”

“All the time? As in every time it meows?”

“No, only every once in a while, like when he’s really craving attention or needs to be brushed.”

“Oh.” I say. Oh.

I tell her that when I’m craving attention, I take my shirt off, exposing the Katherine Hepburn-shaped birthmark on my stomach and make it talk: ‘Hello, everybody! Got any more tequila?’

I just met you and I by now you must realize I am human and I have needs and I can love you, actually love you. I’m not jumping the gun here, but I am capable of real love, not this programmed feline, ‘you’re the keeper of the food, so I guess I’ll stick around,’ bullshit.

Does your cat have the ability to make a room laugh without it having anything to do with its own failure? Can it use a QWERTY keyboard? Does it understand how to code even a modicum of HTML? Can it Photoshop images of you to look like you have a handlebar mustache? I don’t thinks so!

I can do half of those things while I have soup cooking on the stove. See these thumbs!? Do you? DO YOU!!? These mean I win.

“You’re right.” She says coyly. And we boned right there at Taco Bell. Nine months later, we had 8 kittens.

They run my website now.
———
Word to the nerd.
Bunny up.

Originally published at Mike McGee Town. You can comment here or there.