Thursday, May 17, 2007

Let That Be A Lesson To You

I inherited my cat, Taz, from my parents when she was 1. ("Inherited" sounds like they died when really, it was just that they constantly rescue cats and had 5 or 6 at the time. I got married and moved out - I took a cat with me.)

Taz is a gorgeous black and white cat who lives her life with confidence and the occasional side of attitude.

She was a kitten when we rescued her and her digestive track took a while to adjust to her new, consistent food supply. In fact, for the first month or so, her digestive track was so bad, she would fart - copiously - all the time.

Especially when she jumped into your lap. Something about the force of her landing caused major gas to erupt.

It stunk.


My dad was usually on the receiving end of this treatment as a) he would sit in his recliner and she viewed that as an invitation to join him and b) he has a nose sensitive enough to rival a bloodhound. (Many a day we watched him scowl and sniff and announce to everyone that there was poop in a room. The obligatory search would last for a few minutes before we told him, firmly, "It's all in your nose.")

One day, Taz jumped in my dad's lap and let fly. It was the last straw.

He put her on the floor, gathered some steam of his own, and then sat on her (not enough to hurt her, just enough to pin her down) and ripped a fart that, had my boys been there, would have earned him a permanent spot in the Extreme Bodily Functions Hall of Fame.

Then he stood up and said, "Let that be a lesson to you."

I think he forgot he was dealing with a cat.

She resumed her gassy excursions onto his lap within five minutes. Apparently, cats don't heed object lessons. Either that, or as she let fly with her twenty-ninth fart of the morning she was thinking in her twisted kitty brain,

"Let that be a lesson to you."


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