Tag Archives: cats

“Fuck Putin” — a moral confection

Just the other day, God woke up from an interminable nap that seemed like hours, but really had begun roundabout the 3rd Century BCE, after God had popped just half of a Divine Tizanidine. . An angel came to collect the divine bedpan, which was full of chalcedony and sardonyx crystals. God asked the angel how things were going on Earth. . “Um.” The angel scuttled out of the Holy of Holies bed chamber. “Oh boy, better find Gabriel!” . By the time Gabriel received the news that the Omnipresent One had awakened, it was a bit too late. A roar unlike a roar—more an infinite cacophony of pissed-offedness—tore the fabric of space-time, and even unspace-untime. . Those with spiritually discerning ears the Universe over heard what sounded like “What the fuck!!!!” in all mortal and immortal tongues. . “Oh boy,” said Gabriel, who booked a quick flight to a Universe several dimensions over and which was known for its lovely cabanas and tasty liqueurs. . The reason God yawlped such an Almighty yawlp was simple: human beings, who had been vested with a quasi-Imago Dei—via a very unique Evolutionary…

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    (“Oatmeal” is one of the essays in the author’s debut work of fiction, Birds of a Feather: Short Stories & Miscellany, available in paperback and as an ebook on Amazon, Goodreads and Smashwords.)     . “Then the Woman laughed and set the Cat a bowl of the warm white milk and said, ‘O Cat, you are as clever as a man…’” Rudyard Kipling, Just So Stories     “They arrive at the airport in no time.” Richard Scarry, A Day at the Airport     In ancient Egypt, cats were deemed sacred animals, worthy of mummification. Before you take that to mean all of Pharaoh’s subjects worshiped cats, understand that anyone who has ever attempted to bathe a beloved housecat or even just trim its claws, at one time or another wanted to toss said animal’s internal organs into a canopic jar.   Cosmic Ma’at and all that jazz. Miaow.   I’m a cat lover. The desire to separate a feline from its entrails isn’t personal—just a balancing of the scales, and maybe a smidgen revenge for never being allowed to use the bathroom without the carpet outside the door being scratched to…

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