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Bubba D Cat
by Tim White
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Hi, my name is Bubba. As in Bubba D. Cat. Humans think they’re really cute sometimes but I usually just overlook it. I live on a peanut and cotton farm in South Georgia but I’ve never seen it. Other than the part you can see out the window since I cant be bothered with anything as uncivilized as the outdoors. I’ve been there and done that. I was born in the swampy woods and lived there with my real Mom for several weeks until late one afternoon I heard some women talking. I snuck out to the edge of the road and hide in some bushes so I could see. As they got closer I could see there were two of them and they were walking really fast and talking faster. What were they doing? Where were they going? I found out later that they did this everyday, something to do with losing weight or something. I’ve never really understood it exactly but we’ll move on with the story. It did look like it might be fun, or at least something different to do, so I declared myself. I went out and followed them for a while until I got their attention. Then I hit them with all the feline appeal I had. I did that charming and irresistible thing of rubbing against their legs and played a brief, halfhearted game of “hard to get”. I didn’t really mean it and was overjoyed when they caught me. I was just a little kitten then, maybe six or eight weeks old, I forget the details, but instinct told me there was a Mecca of opulence and opportunity just waiting to be harvested here. Although that all natural fear of the unknown was gnawing at me I just couldn’t resist the temptation. The shortest lady picked me up and carried me along on their walk till we got to a big white thing with four wheels and glass all around it. She put me in and I climbed up on the dashboard so I could see out. She took me home and that’s where the story has its beginning.
That’s also where I met that idiot Gus for the first time. When we got to my new home I discovered there was one of those moronic dogs already there. And this one was huge. A big yellow Lab complete with all the disgusting and revolting characteristics common to this inferior species known genetically as canines. All he wanted to do at first was smell of me. He seemed particularly interested in the area under my tail for unknown and baffling reasons. My new mommy held me high above him, which I considered to be appropriate since it was obvious that I was a superior being to this uncultured slob. He considered me to be nothing more than a new toy to play with. Every time I tried to go exploring he was right with me. Sniffing and trying to push me around with his nose, I’d have to deal with him later but right now I needed to acquaint myself with my new surroundings.
In later battles for couch position, or who got to lie on Mama’s chest he would try to claim that he was here first. What a crybaby. Every time I get in the recliner with her and stretch out on top of the covers he comes and tries to play with me. What an imbecile. What cat in his right mind would want to jump down from this soft cushion and run across the floor just so a dog could have the pleasure of chasing him. How is that fun? I mean other than the obvious exhibition of intellectual superiority, which we’ve long ago established. Dogs are so dumb. He actually adores riding in the truck. I’ve never stooped to the condescending state of actually going with them on a ride but one time I was patrolling the yard from the top of the couch and saw them go by on the road outside the window. That moron had his front feet on the toolbox and his back feet on an air compressor. They wont let him ride up on the toolbox because he’ll slide off when they turn but he’s too stupid to remember this. The wind was blowing his cheeks out and his ears were blown straight out behind him. But his tail was constantly wagging and I guess that confirms the theory that dogs are easily entertained. He even thinks its fun to run behind the four-wheeler and bark. He’s never, not once won the race with it but he says one day it might run out of gas. Who knows, maybe there’s some hope for him after all.
I like to do cultured and refined activities. My favorite is to assist in the typing. Like I’m doing this very minute. I try to disguise being irritating in the form of wanting my head rubbed. It’s great fun to step on the keyboard and cause no telling what to come up on the screen. But most of my time is spent in leisure. I spend most of the day waiting for Mama to get home and sit in the recliner. I will, on occasion get on the desk and push papers off. It’s a lot of fun to act innocent and watch my Mom and Dad pick them up off the floor. I did unknowingly commit a pretty big crime one time. Although it seemed innocent enough to me at the time I found out later there would be grave consequences.
Once during my 15 minutes a day activity period I discovered some loose wall paper under one of the living room windows. It looked like it would be fun to claw it to shreds with my front claws so I went to work on it. I didn’t get to sit in Mama’s lap that night. Evidently she didn’t want me to do that. One morning a few days later she took me with her when she left. I was afraid she was going to take me back where she found me. Instead we went to a big office building with a counter top and lots of other animals. It was my first Vet experience. I guess she really was pretty upset about the wallpaper cause I heard he tell the nice lady to de-claw me and “fix” me. What did that mean? What part of me was torn up and needed fixing? Lets get Gus up here so they can do that to him too.
There was a big yellow daddy cat there that looked pretty rough. It was obvious he was a street fighter and had experienced a rough weekend. I asked him what happened to him and why was he here. He wasn’t in a real talkative mood because of his injuries. He said he was there for some stitches and I shouldn’t ask so many questions. But he was nice and polite, asking me why I was there. I told him about what my Mom said about my claws and then I asked him if knew what getting fixed meant. His eyes got kind of wide and what was left of his right ear perked up. “You mean you don’t know”, he asked. Then he looked around to make sure no humans were listening. With a philosophical expression on his face he said, “Look, I got in this shape chasing women. I got all these cuts and scratches in a bar fight over some streetwalker. Believe me you’d be better off if you get rid of your equipment now and live a life of leisure as God intended cats to do”. I didn’t really understand what he was saying but since he was a lot older and wiser I figured he probably knew best.
Gus pretended he was deeply concerned about my stitches, or at least that was the implication he presented when we got back home. After Mama left and went back to work he laughed and laughed so I got under a chair where he couldn’t reach me and called him names. Of course he’s too illiterate to know what they mean but it was my little way of getting even.
So now I do even less than I did before. My natural, Tomcat mentality, was gone before I had the chance to experience it. I mostly work the night shift these days. I like to hide under the bed and grab the feet of who ever walk by. That’s a lot of fun when it’s a visitor who doesn’t know to be expecting me. I still watch over the yard from my lordly perch on the back of the sofa and, in retribution for my involuntary surgery, I enjoy knocking lamps off the tables. Preferably after everyone’s gone to bed to get the maximum effect. Well, that was grueling 30 minutes of writing so I’m going to take a nap now. See ya later, Bubba D

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Thomas Kittrell 11 May 2007
Tim, thanks for the humor and laugh break.


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