THE CAT MONOLOGUE (Where The Fuck Are My Balls?)
I hereby call to order day four of testimony in the “Where The Fuck Are My Balls?” Inquiry.
I will begin with roll call, and then I will resume questioning Mr. Shadow Of The Fern On The Wall.
Mr. Fern. Ms Vase. Mr. Tchotchke. Mr. Erotic Figurine That My Owner Brought Back From Machu Pichu. Mr. Shadow Of The Fern On The Wall. Mr. Shadow Of Me On The Wall. Ms. Smudge On The Wall. Mr. Wall. Mr. Imaginary Fast Moving Object (head quickly turns to look at nothing). And of course me, Mr. Fluffernutter The Cat, I am present. Very well.
Mr. Shadow Of The Fern On The Wall! Thus far your silence in this matter has been, dare I say, deafening. Here we are in day four of testimony, and you have yet to answer my question satisfactorily. I ask you one last time…WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY BALLS!? Do you deny that in the days and weeks leading up to the sudden and mysterious disappearance of my balls, you were privy to hearing my owner say things such as, and I quote:
(remember to face out for quotes)
“I hope Mr. Fluffernutter doesnt get mad at me when I have him fixed.”
and “Lick ‘em while you got ‘em, Mr. Fluffernutter.”
and “Next week my cat won’t have any balls, isn’t that weird, no balls.”
and “It’s either the claws or the balls honey, I’m not turning Mr. Fluffernutter into a Tribble.”
and lastly, “Tomorrow we’re gonna ‘Drop the Barker’ on ya, Fluff.”
‘Drop the Barker’ (extreme gravitas) on me, indeed. After several hours of debate with my analysts Mr. Dust Mote and Ms. Flicker Of Light That Appears On The Glass Top Of The Coffee Table Between The Hours of 4pm And 5pm, I have come to the conclusion that ‘Drop the Barker On Ya’ is simply a clumsily phrased reference to the gentleman from the Price Is Right, and his crazed, inexplicable, decades-old campaign of testicular jihad against the housepets of this country. Now then, Mr. Shadow Of The Fern On The Wall, do you deny that you heard all these things yet did nothing? That amidst all the chatter fraught with words such as “balls” and “ouch” and “snip-snip” and “isn’t it weird, no balls” you did not think they constituted a credible and specific threat? PLEASE Mr. Shadow Of The Fern On The Wall, have some respect for the intelligence of the members of this (head darts to and fro to look at imaginary object) committee!
Hiss. Hiss and fffft, I say! I motion for a short recess before resumption of testimony. (eyes slowly start to close lazily for a few moments)
And we’re back. Mr. Erotic Figurine That My Owner Brought Back From Machu Pichu, I found some of your conclusions as to the effectiveness of information sharing between objects in this apartment, shadows of things on those objects, and stains or smudges on those objects to be quite sobering. And not to beat a dead horse, but I am especially dismayed at the utter lack of communication between wall-related agencies. It seems to me that there should be some semblance of information sharing between you considering that you are all either on the wall, part of the wall or are…the wall.
Therefore, it is my recommendation, after taking into account the complete and utter failure of all items in this apartment, real or imagined, at preventing my owner from removing my balls, that I begin a thorough and relentless campaign of daily, persistent urination…THERE. Exactly right there. Every day, regardless of any countermeasures my owner may choose to employ.
I shall call this plan ‘Operation: Infinite Peeback’. ‘Peeback’ being a word of my own devise, which combines the two words ‘pee’, which is itself contained entirely within the word ‘Peeback’ and the word ‘payback’, which is, after all, the entire point of the operation. I am also considering various claw-related strikes! Nothing personal, Mr. and Mrs. Front Two Legs Of The Ottoman.
At any rate, those are my recommendations to me!
I would like to thank the entire panel for their time, and if you’ll all excuse me, I am now going to go take a shit…in a box.