Cat Without a Country

[this is satire]

by Rocky the Diabolical Catâ„¢

I walked into Walgreens to buy a jar of pomade and a voice blasted over the loudspeaker: "Activate all security cameras!"* I left. As I dragged along Washington Street, my fur-covered body aching, I viewed the world around me, a world so alien and offensive to my organism. I, Rocky, unhappy in my current home and rejected by Italy, have become a cat without a country.

I got home and the phone rang. Evangelina!

"Hello, mi amor!" I said excitedly.

"Hello, Rocky. Do you want to join me at Picasso's Urban Bistro for a drink tonight?" she asked.

"I would never set foot in that slop-trough of the local bourgeoisie!" I growled.

"But Theodore is the barista there now. He makes the most wonderful lattes with hazelnut syrup," she countered.

"That sissy-ass! If I asked him to pull me a simple ristretto, he would probably scratch his lumpy, Rove-like head in confusion! I hate Theodore, I hate Picasso's, I hate this entire country!" I howled.

"You are so very hateful, Rocky!" Evangelina said. "What are you going to do with your life?"

"I may move to Canada," I replied. "My friend, the beautiful philosopher Diana, has been begging me to move up there to be with her, so to speak. We shall see."

"Diana ... a mythological goddess. The goddess of what though?" Evangelina asked.

"The goddess of sex, as I recall," I answered.

"Do you think your life will be different if you move to Canada, Rocky?" she asked.

"I don't know," I replied, "but at least I will have a few months of happiness until I figure out who and what I hate!"

*This actually happened. - Rocky


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