It’s never good when the cats ask for a sit down.
They were waiting on the kitchen table so we could see eye to eye. Maggie, Maeve, and Mia. I got the ball rolling. “So, what’s up?”
Maggie, the oldest cat, a deadly serious calico, took a step forward. “What’s up? I’ll tell you what’s up. Cat herding.”
“Oh, please. You didn’t really think…”
“Look, I’d appreciate it if you let us talk and just shut up for a change. I know you thought it was funny, but how do you think it makes us feel to get ripped on all the time?”
“All the time? I don’t rip on you all the time.”
“Don’t take it so seriously. It’s satire.”
Maeve looked more confused than usual. “What’s satire?”
“Satire,” Maggie explained, “ is what closes Saturday night.”
“Besides, I write about the dogs.”
“Yes, and the dogs can do no wrong. The dogs this, the dogs that. The dogs are so freaking brilliant and wonderful. Well, how would you feel if the dogs turned on you? What then?”
The dogs turning on me? Impossible.
“And one more thing, a**hole: don’t write about this. It would be a shame if someone snuck up while you were sleeping and sucked your breath out.”
“That’s just an old wives’ tale.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no. Sleep well, my friend. Sleep well.”