Catastrophe

Breaking News: Hoomin Catastrophe Spreading

Cabbage, aka Sybil

Reports of My Death have been Greatly Exaggerated

I’m okay. Really. There is NO EVIDENCE that The Catastrophe affects cats, which in itself is hard to grapple with, but there it is.

Still, it’s been kind of a rough day here on Quarantine Day #6.

First, my sister, Cabbage, pictured above. She’s very cranky today, even more than usual. (There’s a reason our neighbor Susie calls my sister ”Sybil.” She is moody, moody, moody, some say a real Sauerkraut.)

My sister brings these moods on herself. For example, above, she is watching Cable News, which as of a Media Advisory earlier today has been declared as Dangerous To Pets as to Hoomins. 

I am worried about her, even though she has always treated me with disrespect (well, more like hate, but I forgive her because some cats are sicker than others—she has a past). Sometimes it’s so uncomfortable to live with her that although my Hoomins are awesome, honestly, living with Cabbage sometimes makes me want to run away. I used to dream of applying to be a Bodega Cat, but you can forget about New York. Too late for that: it’s going on lockdown.

Furthermore, I’m concerned about one of my Hoomins, the one who loves me best (she gives me canned fish, whereas the other Human feeds me cereal without milk). This Hoomin is as touchy as Cabbage today. I don’t know why, but earlier she went into the Big Outdoor Space Beyond Our Yard, which is VERBOTEN, so shhhh, and when she came home she was talking into the Friskies Cat Fishing Game Toy, you know, the one Hoomins stare into an awful lot, poking it with their fingers. Here is what she said: “Kafka wasn’t writing about Germany in the 20th Century, he was writing about Murica in 2020.” But she said it in kind of an angry way. She said Doctor told her to go to Urgent Care but Urgent Care told her to go to Doctor.

If you don’t know what Kafka means, I think it is the Russian word for cat. However, my Russian is rusty. If I’m confusing Kafka with Koschka, whaddaya want, I’m a writer, not a translator. 

And anyway, don’t tell anyone that in a prior life I picked up some Russian, because we are in the midst of a Communist threat. Fearless Orange Tabby Leader says there are lots of bad people who don’t like it when he is calling the Litter Pan-demic the Chinese Virus and siding with China, which as you know is where the Litter Pan-demic started when someone ate a raw bat or something. That’s what I heard on the Foxy Channel, which I’m only allowed to watch at night while the Hoomins sleep. It is no longer clear whether Russia is Fearless Orange Tabby Leader’s favorite country, but I’m risk averse and would like to keep my trip to Moscow with Bernie hush hush. I have plenty of lives left (only lost two so far, but that is for another blog). Still, I don’t relish the idea of being put in a camp somewhere. I already lived in a cage once, and I know Fearless Orange Tabby Leader likes to stuff Hoomins in them—could also happen to cats.

It’s hard to know what to think. From the very beginning, I knew all the news around the Litter Pan-Demic could be full of sh*t. I might have been born three times, but the third time wasn’t yesterday.