“I’m forced to do a certain job that ill befits a spy — selling loaded guns to girls who say they want to die. I get my satisfaction, though I get no thanks; they never tell their shame to find the chambers full of blanks.” — Farmer Green
I don’t normally get so shook up over little things. Some silly mice woke me up a few days ago, playing around with my whiskers. I laid there for a while pretending to be asleep. They were happy, cheerful, probably just had some cheese. I haven’t seen any other cats for a long time, so I’ve been lonely, and I wanted to play with them. I stretched out and then rolled over, which cats never do, to show them I was willing to let bygones be bygones for awhile. They responded by jumping over my stomach one by one, which was cute.
We playing for ten minutes or so. I batted them around with my claws drawn in, which they loved. Let one ride on my back. But I got too rough, unintentionally, and hurt one. They felt betrayed and ran off, scampering and squeaking. Come back, delicate ones, you’re all I have. I’ll try to keep from nipping you. But no. They’ll never be back.
Such a truce is doomed from the start. They can never trust me, and I can’t trust myself. I think I’ll go catch a nice crispy lark for dinner tonight, and swallow it in huge gulps.
“Science isn’t value free but surgeons aren’t sadists. Beauty after all, is in the eyes of the rapist. Bid me use a scalpel and with loving cruel precision, I’ll file another X-ray and refuse to make incisions.” — Green, et al, in Green vs. Jane
Originally appeared in Inside Joke #14
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