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Jack Charest
Sunday, February 06, 2000 Page: 1E
I had a dream the other night in which a voice outlined in detail how I
could talk to my cat. Well, that’s crazy, right? But then the next day I tried
it. Just for fun, of course.
It worked!
I started getting brain waves from Holly-Barre, our cat. See, we started
getting thoughts back and forth.
I guess because I had been reading the Bible earlier in the day, the first
thought that came to me was, “Do cats and other animals have souls?” And
Holly’s thoughts came back to me. “If humans have souls, we have souls. After
all, you humans are animals too.“
“But,” I protested, “We humans are … well, we’re kind of special.
“We’re … well, we’ve done a lot of, you know, special things. I think
…
Holly interrupted. Her voice was loaded with scorn as she thought,
“Special!”
“You and yours are special in a pig’s behind. You’re the ones who invented
swords and guns and blustered into wars where thousands of you have been
butchered.
“You’re the ones who reproduce like rabbits and proceed to mess up the
earth, the air and the water of the whole globe. You’re the ones who made
slaves and beasts of burden of every anima~l who could pull something, all for
a handful of hay and a bucket of oats, while you went home for supper and ate
one of us animals. And you’re special! Come on, buddy, gimme a break!”
“Wow! You’re a real sorehead, aren’t you?” That was all I could think
back to her.
The miserable animal literally hissed when she answered me with: “I gotta
right to be a sorehead. First of all, you pay a veterinarian to cancel all my
dates, then you feed me that glop out of a can while you sit there feeding on
a filet chateaubriand, or somethin’. I’m a sorehead, you’re a bonehead! “Oh,
something else,” she continued, “This long hair you breed into us. You think
it’s cute and fuzzy and all, Well, we cats hate it. We choke on our own hair.
Yeah, you humans! A mindless lot.”
“You know, you blank, blank ungrateful little beast, if we hadn’t paid
$250 for you, I’d take you to the SPCA right now!” I said.
At this moment, the boss of the house came into the room. She stopped,
looked at me and said, “Are you OK? Swearing at the cat? Did you take your
pills this morning?”
“Not yet,” I mumbled.
“Well, take them,” she said, and walked on.
So, I went out in the kitchen and took a Prozac. They do relieve the
tension.
I find they’re good if you’ve had a bad dream and can’t get over it.