Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column that’s discovered sitting on cats is waaaaaay more powerful than any cup of coffee.
The unfortunate part of this pick-me-up – which, by the way, if we could bottle and sell it, would put NO-DOZ and Vivarin out of business on the way to making ourselves rich – is that it’s a little difficult to orchestrate.
See, we’ve been cat-sitting (the pun in this is going to be apparent rather quickly). A field agent took off to Europe (something about a once-in-a-lifetime viewing of the changing of the Pope’s hat at Buckingham Palace, or something) and we got stuck with the cats. Actually, as far as pet-sitting goes, the only thing that beats cats is fish. Fish you just have to feed. Cats, you feed, you change the litterbox, and you make sure they’re not eating the fish. So we’re not unhappy about watching the cats.
The cats, however, might have a different opinion on this. Especially if we continue to sit on them.
What happened was, we were in a rush to get to work, and as usual, we had to get the car loaded. (When you have a job like ours, you never know what will come in handy during the day, so you bring everything: flippers, step-ladder, Silly Putty, Darth Vader costume, three different kinds of shoes, toiletries, including makeup, bilge pump, aluminum foil (for hats), etc.
So, the car door’s open and we’re running back and forth to the house and the car, transferring goods. Once it was all over, we went to plop our behinds in the seat and take off. But somewhere in between transferring the costume wardrobe and the collapsible football goal posts the cat decided to explore the car and was going out as we were coming in.
In case you’re one of those people that scoffs at far-fetched, high-tech stuff like the ejector seat in the old episodes of “Knight Rider,” let us tell you here and now that these things are possible, and you don’t even need a turbo-boosted seat. All it takes is a claw placed properly on the tush, the correct clenching force and a terrified meow. In fact, we’re sending these technical specifications to NASA.
We don’t recommend you try this at home, though. Although, if we’d already had the Darth Vader costume on, what with the padded backside and all, we’d never have to tell you about this.
Nobody’s called this in yet, but we’ll save you all the dime. Here’s a Scum Alert!! Scum Alert!! to the supposed radicals who burned the Peak 1 flag. We’d be the first to criticize The Man, the first to question the efficacy of violent diplomacy and the first to fight for your right to express the same. But if making a three-hour hike to crap on the well-meaning efforts of your fellow residents is as creative as you can get in the name of anti-establishment protest, then you need to go back to civil disobedience school.
And if that’s hard to swallow, go ahead and burn this edition of the paper, ya pyros.
If you’ve ever sat on something you wish you’d looked down and seen beforehand, let us know at
email@example.com, fax at (970) 668-0755 or just tell us whether or not this cat we’re wearing makes our butt look big on the voicemail at (970) 668-3998, ext. 237.
We’re out and up and in and down and around and all them prepositions …
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