Hi, everyone. Pennycat, your host, here.
As you might have discerned from the movie, a new plot twist has taken place in my humble abode. Humans, I tell you, will never be something I understand. You have one perfectly great cat (myself), who provides all the entertainment, companionship and touch of class you could possibly want, and what do they do? Go off and acquire some himbo better at knocking things over and getting lost than performing even a percentage of the duties I do. And then, after a few years of this tsunami of incompetency, do they make the right choice and sell him to the highest bidder? No, no they do not.
Instead, they acquire some version 2.0 of him. An almost exact copy, down to the propensity to get confused and stare dumbly at you awaiting further instructions. Another Socks. A “sockelganger“, as fatty likes to call him.
Boy, you can just feel the scientific theorems bubbling inside that little skull, can’t you?
Socks, of course, is a complete dupe – never mind he was “fixed” some years ago and doesn’t exactly cruise the alleyways, if you get what I mean – he’s convinced that this kid very well might be his long-lost son! And the kid’s bought into it! It’d be almost sweet if it didn’t translate to day-in day-out misery for yours truly.
Do you know what a refined lady like myself enjoys? Not this. Not two morons tackling each other for fun, randomly, and with no provocation. Check out these shots from the hourly ‘World Wide Wrestling” show:
OK, my heart’s not made of stone – there’s a quiet charm of the last photo. But not the hundredth time the house has to echo with their insanity! I can barely find a combination of distant rooms and pillows to hide behind to avoid it. Madness!
His “official” name is “Tweetie” or “Tweets”, but I just call him “Cousin Oliver” – a perhaps too pop-cultural reference for my classy audience. I am pointing to the character “Cousin Oliver” on the old “Brady Bunch” television show – a late-era edition to the show to bring in needed “cuteness” when the main characters had grown perhaps a tad old to come off as anything but teenage actors. The ploy, I might add, did not work, although that hasn’t stopped any of a number of television shows from trying same in the decades hence.
So here we are, saddled with this little bundle of “joy”, who Socks has fallen in love with (partially because of aforementioned and misguided paternal duty) and me… well, I reach to all of you, please, for a communication line that does not prominently feature grunts and the sound of “say uncle”.
Oh, the life we lead.
Coming up: A Book.