Messing with Kitty’s Diet

by M. L. Klein

One ought to take under certain advisement the practical applications of the ‘Raw Food Diet’ (for pets) school of thought. This is especially true in regards to the amount of disposable time available for deep house-cleaning.
As you tenderly place the wholesome supper of disemboweled fowl innards before dear, old Puss (with clasped hands and, perhaps, a little sigh for a meal well served), thoughts are not likely to wander to the amount of cleaning supplies and paper towels handy in the house.
They should.
Yes, ‘The Raw Food Diet’ (for pets) will amaze even the most seasoned cat-owner by the sheer scope of the ruin soon to lay before you. You will ask yourself, as I did, how raw, undigested chicken livers, swimming in gastric juices, could be regurgitated with such precision for both distance and accuracy by a domestic cat without benefit of previous target practice.
The immediate objects of Puss’ projectiles were; the floor, the kitty-window table, the room partition (front & back), the kitty-nap blanket, the bed sheets, the upholstered back the couch, a seat cushion of the couch, under the seat cushion of the couch, and last but not least, a rather nice green chenille pillow.
I must write these advocates of The Raw Food Diet (for pets) and seek their advice…using the rawest possible language, of course.

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A Essay on Grave-Digging

There are all kinds of lonely.

There is the lonely of being actually alone, say on a New Year’s Eve when it is unlikely some handsome brute will burst through the door at midnight and plant a back-bending kiss on you.

There’s the peculiar state of being alone in a crowd, say a party where the only person you know is the hostess, and guests have amassed in conversation-cliques as tight as covered wagons circled against attacking Indians.

There is the lonely of waiting for a bus in the rain when you are the object of cool pity by every passing motorist, except the driver of the bus itself, who will not see you through whapping windshield wipers and great sprays of wheel water.

There is the lonely of an otherwise happy spinsterhood, content right up to the moment an old married couple passes by, walking hand-in-hand.

Then, there is the one and only true lonely

…the occasion you find yourself digging a grave for a dead cat.

Know with certainty that this is when the entire world will abandon you.

Neighbors, friends & relatives will all tell you how very sorry & upset they are to hear about the demise of poor old puss and it’s ever so nice that it will be put to rest in a lovely garden of repose.

But the day you dig that grave, a great quiet descends,
especially if it is for (by your best reckoning) a twenty pound cat.

Foot traffic ceases, phone calls stop, and the streets fall silent of passing cars. Eye-balls peek between the folds of drawn drapes appraising the best venue of escape from the premises without running into you.

Why? Because common decency demands that anyone engaged in such a piteous task be offered, at least, some empty gesture of help. But, at the same time, no one dare risk actually being taken up on it.

Yes, there are all kinds of lonely. But, the worst sort will always involve a shovel, a pick and ground harder than a frozen kitty.