Can Cat Jump?

Can Cat Jump?


It’s happening. I’m finally going to be an author! I can’t tell you how amazing it feels to know that all the blood (ketchup), sweat (salt), and tears (sausage, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwiches) are finally paying off. Well, actually, I can tell you. It feels very amazing. No, let me rephrase: it feels very much amazing, a lot. Plus, I’m going to make very much amazing, a lot of money. But that’s not why I do what I do. The answer to that burning question (which every literary genius must ask themselves twice a day, every day, and have a New York Times Bestselling Author Mentor ask them every six months (and they better be ready to answer because if they haven’t been asking themselves twice a day, every day, they can bet their bottoms they will be thoroughly roasted by their mentor (mine is Clive Cussler (he’s a tyrant)))), “Why do I write?,” has an equally burning answer. But before we gather ‘round The Bonfire of Burning Answers, we must first gather The Kindling of Inspiration, which, of course, are located in The Forest of Subconscious – what’s that? You don’t care about any of this? You want to know what my book is about? Oh. Ok. It’s a children’s book called Can Cat Jump? It’s just pages and pages of drawings of Cat jumping, soaring through the air, and clawing my legs (he can, in fact, jump). Also, I haven’t actually written it yet. Nor do I have a publisher. But I am accepting pre-orders. Five bucks. If enough people give me five dollars I will write, illustrate, print, and ship Can Cat Jump? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go eat very much amazing, a lot of blood, sweat, and tears.


Wave of the Future

"Just smile and wave and they won't suspect a damn thing."

“Just smile and wave and they won’t suspect a damn thing.”

The new wave is here. Now, before you go thinking I’m a cool UPS guy announcing that the microwave you ordered has arrived, allow me to elaborate. Kid has learned how to wave, and it’s freaking me out. What does this mean for her future? Does her talent for waving mean she will, one day, be a famous politician greeting citizens on the campaign trail, or a sign-holder for a sandwich shop grabbing the attention of lunch-hour traffic? Or, she could be waving at me in the way that a mobster waves at a snitch before taking them out. “See ya later, buddy boy.” That would explain why Cat has been ripping his mouse toys to smithereens: practice. He and Kid must be involved in a conspiracy to oust me as Head of Household, probably so they can list me as a dependent on their jointly filed tax return and collect a major refund. What’s that? You’ve never heard of The Meow-Meow Baby Tax Scam? It was invented by an Egyptian hairless and her five-month-old business associate in the mid-80’s. Lifetime was developing a film adaptation of their best-selling tell-all, “Cat Tax Fever,” but then Grumpy Cat blew up and the project got shelved indefinitely. I guess what I’m trying to say is this: if your baby starts waving at you, be sure to submit form 1080Z4 to the IRS as soon as possible, as it protects you from all cat-baby fraud conspiracies heretoforehencewith. You’re welcome.


Two Cats and a Baby

"Studies have shown that cats make excellent horror movie monsters."

“Studies have shown that cats make excellent horror movie monsters.”

How do you tell a cat you still love them, despite the fact that, lately, all your time and energy has been devoted to their new baby sister? You give them treats, right? Well, what if you’ve given your cat so many treats they’re starting to resemble Orson Welles (The Later Years)? What then? You rub them under their chin, right? Well, what if every time you try to rub them under their chin they bite you, like a drunk Orson Welles? What then? You play Chase the Laser Pointer, right? Well, what if instead of chasing the laser pointer, they just give you a thousand-yard stare from the room at the end of the hallway, which is really creepy because it’s basically the farthest you can possibly be from somebody in this house while still looking them in the eye. What then? You give up and tell the other cat that you still love them, right?  Well, what if the other cat hasn’t been home in days, and goes out all night partying with owls and a raccoon that bears an uncanny resemblance to Orson Welles? What then? You blog about it, right? Well, what if every sentence you write is in the form of a question, because you’re sleep deprived and creatively paralyzed by the infinite responsibilities of parenthood? You tweet jokes about topical subjects, right? WELL, WHAT IF YOU HATE TWITTER BECAUSE IT’S BEEN, LIKE, FIVE YEARS AND YOU’VE TWEETED LITERALLY THOUSANDS OF JOKES WITH LITTLE TO NO RETURN WHICH MAKES YOU FEEL LIKE THE WORLD’S WORST JOKE FARMER – YOU JUST PLANT JOKE SEEDS AND WATER THEM AND WAIT FOR THEM TO GROW UP AND BE FEATURED ON ELLEN AND WHAT DO YOU GET? WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDS! What then? Eh, I guess I’ll make a breakfast burrito.

Paw Prints

"I'm afraid I can't let you print that, Dave."

“I’m afraid I can’t let you print that, Dave.”

Print is dead. Well, at least it is in our household. That’s because New Cat has made a habit out of sitting on our printer like a gargoyle – a gargoyle that loves belly rubs and licks your hair when it is hungry – rendering the various functions of the device about as effective as a those of a rock. As a result, I have realized two things. One: I can’t look at a cat sitting on a printer without laughing. I just can’t. And I would be willing to bet you can’t either. Just close your eyes and imagine the printer department at Office Depot. Now imagine that a bunch of cats are inexplicably sitting on top of every single show-model. Still not laughing? CONGRATULATIONS, YOU’RE A ROBOT. Two: I don’t really kind of sort of actually need a printer. Not sort of literally at all. I’m not in school, which means I have no term papers to print. I have GPS on my phone, which means I have no need for directions. And I laugh every time I see a cat sitting on a printer, which means I’M NOT A ROBOT. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to spend the next five days hand-copying my electronic tax return. What’s so crazy about that? How do you think Franciscan monks made copies of their tax returns? With an all-in-one printer-fax-scanner combo?!? Oh man, you-you’re funny. Not as funny as a cat sitting on a printer, but, still…pretty, ah, you know. Pretty funny.

Visualize World Treats

"*Purrfect Polka-Dotted Bowtie available for in-app purchase."

“*Purrfect Polka-Dotted Bowtie available for in-app purchase.”

Can’t we all just get along? Yes. We can. How do I know we can? Because I have recently discovered the ultimate conflict resolution tool: cat treats. No, I’m not suggesting we should gather all the world’s leaders in a room, lock the doors, and circulate trays of Whiskas® Temptations®. Although remind me to turn that idea into an interactive educational app for children called War & Treats. It would feature characters like Chairman Meow, Feline Calico Roosevelt, and Winston Purrchill, and be free on the app store (I’d make my money on in-app purchases like Catnip Warheads, Scratching Statues, and Medals of Yarn). What I am suggesting, however, is that if cat treats can get Cat and New Cat to be in the same room without tearing out each other’s fur, why can’t they do the same for hoomans? Not only do hoomans have significantly less fur to lose, but they also seem to love spoiling their pets. Dog owners know what I’m talking about. If a bunch of strangers can huddle together in a freezing dog park and make small talk while their dogs hump and pee on each other, certainly cat owners can do the same while their cats enjoy tender morsels of chicken, tuna, and duck. After that, all we have to worry about are the reptile pet owners [shudder]. On second thought, it’s probably best if we leave those folks alone.