Sunday, March 02, 2008
SMART DUMB CATS
Scene: Whole Foods on Broad Street, Durham. Paul is in the frozen section looking for microwaveable Pad Thai
Random Woman: Are you Paul Nair?
Paul: Yes
RW: I am [name redacted], we went to high school together.
Paul: Oh yeah! [Name redacted]! How the hell are you?! It's good to see you.
RW: I am fine, I work at Duke now. Do you live in Durham?
Paul: No I live up north now.
RW: Oh, just home visiting?
Paul: No, actually my dad had to have heart surgery, so I'm down here for a month or so helping out.
RW: (grimaces) Oh, that's too bad, that must be keeping you busy.
Paul: You'd think so, but actually it's nothing compared to what I've been having to go through with Patches. Patches is a 13 year old tortoiseshell calico that I bought with my old roommate back in the summer of 2001 in Greensboro. You remember 2001, right? When the World Trade Center was destroyed? This was before then. Anyways, this cat was given to my father when I moved to New York and generally I would describe it as well-mannered and good-natured. I wouldn't call it sweet or anything, but you know how cats are; as far as this one is concerned, she's relatively well behaved. So since I've been staying back at home, which is a little under three weeks now, this cat has managed to: jump out of a window and run into a dog house, eat about seven inches of red plastic ribbon from an old christmas gift, barf said ribbon up in small pieces in no fewer than two dozen discreet locations all over our house, open the closet doors in every upstairs room in the middle of the night using only her paws, turn on the hallway bathroom sink using only her paws (also in the middle of the night), slam herself repeatedly full-force into the dining room window at 4:30 in the morning after seeing an opossum or raccoon or some other cat walking on our front porch, sit on my chest in the middle of the night with eyes glowing which causes me to panic and scream, drink an entire medium sized Bojangles iced tea left on the kitchen counter for a mere two minutes unattended, pee loudly in her litter box at three in the morning with a noise that sounds like rainwater splattering torrentially on a tin roof, sleep directly under my bed and proceed to snore loudly and sound remarkably like a rapidly accelerating late 80s sports car, crap ungodly amounts of feces with the worst smell known to man, roll around on the stairs while people are trying to navigate them creating extremely tricky maneuvering for the human, and finally, shed like a goddamned yeti on vacation in Hawaii, causing cat hair to be found in everything from my toothbrush to my Kraft shredded cheese which I keep in the dairy drawer of our refrigerator. Otherwise, things are alright.
RW: Okay, well I gotta get going, nice seeing you.
Paul: Deuces, bro.
Random Woman: Are you Paul Nair?
Paul: Yes
RW: I am [name redacted], we went to high school together.
Paul: Oh yeah! [Name redacted]! How the hell are you?! It's good to see you.
RW: I am fine, I work at Duke now. Do you live in Durham?
Paul: No I live up north now.
RW: Oh, just home visiting?
Paul: No, actually my dad had to have heart surgery, so I'm down here for a month or so helping out.
RW: (grimaces) Oh, that's too bad, that must be keeping you busy.
Paul: You'd think so, but actually it's nothing compared to what I've been having to go through with Patches. Patches is a 13 year old tortoiseshell calico that I bought with my old roommate back in the summer of 2001 in Greensboro. You remember 2001, right? When the World Trade Center was destroyed? This was before then. Anyways, this cat was given to my father when I moved to New York and generally I would describe it as well-mannered and good-natured. I wouldn't call it sweet or anything, but you know how cats are; as far as this one is concerned, she's relatively well behaved. So since I've been staying back at home, which is a little under three weeks now, this cat has managed to: jump out of a window and run into a dog house, eat about seven inches of red plastic ribbon from an old christmas gift, barf said ribbon up in small pieces in no fewer than two dozen discreet locations all over our house, open the closet doors in every upstairs room in the middle of the night using only her paws, turn on the hallway bathroom sink using only her paws (also in the middle of the night), slam herself repeatedly full-force into the dining room window at 4:30 in the morning after seeing an opossum or raccoon or some other cat walking on our front porch, sit on my chest in the middle of the night with eyes glowing which causes me to panic and scream, drink an entire medium sized Bojangles iced tea left on the kitchen counter for a mere two minutes unattended, pee loudly in her litter box at three in the morning with a noise that sounds like rainwater splattering torrentially on a tin roof, sleep directly under my bed and proceed to snore loudly and sound remarkably like a rapidly accelerating late 80s sports car, crap ungodly amounts of feces with the worst smell known to man, roll around on the stairs while people are trying to navigate them creating extremely tricky maneuvering for the human, and finally, shed like a goddamned yeti on vacation in Hawaii, causing cat hair to be found in everything from my toothbrush to my Kraft shredded cheese which I keep in the dairy drawer of our refrigerator. Otherwise, things are alright.
RW: Okay, well I gotta get going, nice seeing you.
Paul: Deuces, bro.
