One More Caturday Night
“Ah, kiss my ass.”
You do enough of that. Two minutes ago, you were ears deep in your own asshole right on the sidewalk.
“Cats enjoy the simpler things in life: self-administered analingus, murder, knocking stuff off shelves.”
I don’t see the appeal, gotta be honest.
“Well, you know: our brains are the size of shot glasses. There’s not a lot of nuance to us.”
Eh, there’s less than you think in humans.
“Don’t know about that. You aware of the genre of novel known as the epistolary? Story’s told through letters going back and forth?”
“Cats can’t understand that shit at all.”
“I could tear the book to confetti with my teeth, but that’s about it.”
People hate it when you do that.
“Don’t give a fuck.”
“Okay, good talk. Gonna go kill some more snakes.”
You been killing snakes today?
“Yeah. Got two in the backyard. Gonna check the scrub down the street.”
Do you eat them?
“I taste them. You know: I’ll nibble. Snakes are kinda shitty-tasting, if I’m honest. More of a Fancy Feast cat.”
“Oh, that’s the best. All wet and gloppy. I like the stuff in the grey can; much better than the stuff in the other grey can.”
They’re all grey, aren’t they?
“Well, if they’d feed me at night, I’d be able to see it better.”
If you don’t want to eat the snakes, then why do you kill them?
“You just don’t get it, do you?”
“They were smaller than me.”
“What more do you need? If you see something smaller than you, then you kill it.”
You’re smaller than me; I haven’t killed you.
“That’s because you’re a pussy.”
Look who’s talking.
Did you just pee on me?