by Rocky the Diabolical Cat™ Ikey and I were on the porch swing, listening with utter fascination as J. sat on the glider with his eyes closed, reciting bad, morose poetry of his own composition.
"Oh! Fair maiden / were I to ever again kiss thy lips / which hath tasteth like wine / it would be like an interstellar trip," he solemnly intoned.
Ikey held his belly and laughed. "That J. is the stone-coldest of all the stone cold fools!" he squeaked.
"Oh, don't make fun of poor J." I said. "He's having love problems again."
"Like what?" Ikey asked.
"The usual, I'm not even going to get into it," I replied.
J. poeticized some more. I cringed.
"How is your writing going, master Rocky?"
"Fine. I just began my Tractatus Felinesophicus."
"How are you and Evangelina?" Ikey asked.
"Fine, as fine as could be. I'm one happy puss," I replied. "And you? Don't you have a girlfriend, young protege Ikey?"
"Master Rocky, I'm gay, and I do have a boyfriend, and we're doing fine. We're thinking of getting married."
"Mazel tov!" I cried.
"Unfortunately, we live in a state which by its own declaration wants to beat Mississippi to the punch in amending its Constitution to ban gay marriages," Ikey said.
"Ah yes, the intellectual race to the bottom with Mississippi. Mississippi! I daresay we are headed toward a neo-Neolithic Era here, young protege Ikey."
"Yup," Ikey replied, "maybe Indianapolis will have weekly stonings of gays on Monument Circle in a couple of years."