Every morning, when I wake up, my cat runs to the kitchen for his breakfast. Every evening, when I come home from work, my cat runs to the kitchen for his dinner. Sometimes, he gets a little impatient and starts meowing at 5:00 in the morning, or circling my feet as soon as I walk in the door. When he’s truly desperate, he’ll swipe at my leg, rub up against me, or start gnawing on plastic bags. Sometimes, he’ll do all three. Truth be told, it’s pretty pathetic. Fortunately, I’m capable of making my own meals. Otherwise, I’d spend my evenings imitating my cat: i.e. chewing on electrical cords and waiting for my wife to make me something edible.
Archive for the ‘Drabble’ Category
It’s St. Patrick’s Day, which my fellow Chicagoans treat as something of a national holiday (assuming national holidays are celebrated by downing massive amounts of alcohol, and let’s face it, they usually are). Every March 17, our streets are overrun with drunken 22-year-olds sporting matted hair and green, puke-stained t-shirts, and while they may have made some bad decisions along the way, there’s one bad decision they probably managed to sidestep: eating Irish food. If there’s something to be said for Guinness, it’s that it fills a person up. That way, they aren’t tempted to eat corned beef, cabbage, boiled potatoes, or whatever other godforsaken dishes have made their way here from the Emerald Isle.
My boiler conked out a few weeks ago, so I know what it’s like to be without heat. It’s not pleasant, especially when the temperature dips into the teens. Now that my boiler is working again, and the thermostat is set to 70 degrees, you’d think I’d be happy. I am happy, in fact, but I’m not completely satisfied. Now I find myself searching for nooks and crannies through which warm air can escape (I’m looking at you, electrical outlets). I’m also dreaming of the day that I can turn the heat up to 72. Sure, it’s an expensive proposition, but sometimes you just have to splurge.
Thankfully, my cat is too large for a padded jungle gym. There’s no way he would fit through the holes, and if he tried to climb up the sides of such a contraption he would undoubtedly knock it over. That would be embarrassing for him and expensive for me. Then again, I’m positive it wouldn’t come to that. If I did experience a lapse in judgment and actually bought a kitty fort, I’m sure it would gather dust in the corner. Believe me, I speak from experience. When I bought my cat a scratching post, he ignored it. When I bought him a toy mouse, he ignored it. When I bought him a ball of catnip, he ignored it. Okay, okay…I can take a hint.
See those clouds in panel three? It’s fun to think of them as thought balloons to be filled in by the reader. They could preserve the continuity of the strip (Young Man: “Wait for it… Wait for it…” Young Woman: “Can he really be that dense?”) or provide an unlikely twist (“Young Woman: “Damn, that didn’t come out right!” Young Man: “Was that an insult?”) But my favorite possibility is complete and utter nonsense (Young Man: “H.R. Pufnstuf…” Young Woman: “Who’s your friend when things get rough?”) or (Young Woman: “DARK CHOCOLATE!” Young Man “MILK CHOCOLATE!”)
I’ve never been good at crossword puzzles, probably because they require such wide-ranging knowledge of trivia. To solve one, I would have to brush up on the political history of the eastern bloc, classical composers, magazine ads from the 1980s, obscure movie musicals, major developments in medical science, NCAA basketball champions, and countless other topics. And then there are the impossible-to-answer questions. Years ago, I was slogging through a crossword puzzle with a friend when we happened upon the following clue: “Baseball Hall of Famer.” All we could do at that point was look at each other and laugh in disbelief.
Timing is everything, I suppose. Even though there’s absolutely nothing new in this strip, it still made me laugh out loud. Buffoonish husband saying something embarrassing and insensitive? We’ve seen that a thousand times before. A pastry to the noggin as an expression of displeasure? It’s so commonplace that shaving cream pies will suffice. But even though the elements are all recycled, the final result is still pretty funny.