So, what shithole country do you come from?

So, what shithole country do you come from? This is a question I never would have particularly thought of asking anyone but in his final act as resignation as moral leader of the free world, Spoiled Donald started a whole conversation yesterday about shithole countries. Mike never thought that Spoiled Donald was a racist until yesterday. He thought that he was just a spoiled, elitist, misogynistic, immature, ignorant, xenophobic, alt-right sympathizing bullshit artist. But when he learned that the shithole countries he identified are populated primarily by black people and the desirable country that he identified, Norway, is populated largely by white people, he finally conceded that Spoiled Donald is also a racist. Maybe I shouldn’t have just said all that, but one of the great things about the USA is that people (and cats) get to speak their mind. Even Spoiled Donald gets to.

My own ancestors are said to have come from Africa, although there is also evidence of origination of the domestic cat from wild forebears in the Middle East. They were wild animals who subsisted on hunting rodents and other small creatures. Cats and people started living near each other when the African peoples, particularly in North Africa,  started farming and storing grain. The cats came around the granaries to kill  and eat the rats and mice who were feeding on the grain, and in this way came in contact with people, developing a symbiotic relationship with them. Most anthropologists believe that the human race, including Norwegians, originally also came from Africa. There are also people who believe that the human race as we know it today evolved in the Middle East; but certainly not in Norway.

There is a breed of cats called the Norwegian forest cat or skogkatt, which is native to Norway. These cats must also have originated in Africa. They no doubt were taken aboard ships by the Vikings to kill rats and thus very likely arrived in the Americas as early as the 900s CE. It is inconceivable that they failed to reach dry land and start their own colonies. There may or may not have been other cats around in the Americas at that time. But as a breed of cats they did not persist in the wild. Since there are no genetic forebears of domestic cats (or people) in the Americas, all cats here were brought from elsewhere, mostly on ships. There is a reliable record of a pet female cat who came to America aboard the Mayflower. Mike thinks that the Maine Coon cat probably has a lot of Norwegian forest cat in it. The Main Coons are  large, long-haired cats that come in all colors. The 1st pair of Norwegian forest cats that were considered to be purebred were brought to the Americas in 1979 and have been recognized by the Cat Fanciers Association as a registered breed since 1984. They are large, long-haired, beautiful cats, and interestingly enough, come in virtually every color including all-black and all-white, although most of them are some variety of brown tabby. So whether you’re a cat or a person from Norway, as desirable as you might be to the well-being of the United States of America, you’re still originally from Africa, that continent of shithole countries.

Mike says that he has some empathy for Spoiled Donald, who typically says the first thing that comes to his mind with no apparent filter. Mike said he himself used to be like that when he was 14 years old. He said it was a struggle but he finally was able to put a lid on it by the time he got into his late 20s or early 30s. But some people retain their 14-year-old personalities throughout their lifetime. Some people don’t even mature out to 14. It’s not that attractive.

So, as I said in my last post, I’ve been meaning to go visit Popo. You may remember her. She is a neighbor in Happy Meadows who lives with her mother, Mrs. Wilson. Popo has cerebral palsy. I had heard that they got a couple of parrots and I wanted to go see them. And believe me, I had no interest in eating parrots. I was just being neighborly. I had mentioned Popo in my post entitled “Popo”  published June 17, 2017. Somewhat interestingly considering the topic du jour, Mrs. Wilson, Popo’s mother, is originally from Haiti, another shithole country. The kind of parrots they have are called Solomon Island Eclectus.  The Solomon Island part is easy to figure out. I think the Eclectus comes from the fact that they are sexually dimorphic, the males being primarily green and the females being primarily blue and red. I’ll put a couple of pictures up for you.


These are Jennie on the left, and Ollie on the right. Jennie is the girl, and Ollie is the boy. Mrs. Wilson and Popo got these parrots several weeks ago. They are about a year old. Jennie is talking quite a bit, and Ollie has started to say a few words. As you can see these are beautiful birds. Some Eclectus parrots will do most of their talking when they’re by themselves, and not when there are people around. They must get bored. I imagine I would be bored if I never left the house. They are free to move about the house. They have  cages, but the doors are always left open. Jennie tends to stay in her cage a lot. In the wild the female Eclectus parrot spends most of her life in a nest that she has fashioned in a hole of a hollow tree. She will defend to the death any attempt by another female to take the hole away from her. Males will bring the females food and mate with them. It’s an interesting barter system. The only thing that male cats are required to bring to females is their charm and personality. Of course, since I was tutored, my interest in females has been strictly platonic. I suppose I should feel bad about it but I really don’t. Not being driven by testosterone has freed me up to appreciate the world in a more benign and eclectic way. What do you know, there’s that word again.

So, I went over to the Wilson’s and scratched at the door until Mrs. Wilson let me in. I nosed around a little bit and jumped up on Popo’s lap. She had a big smile for me and tried to pet me in her awkward sort of way. The birds were out of their cages but they gave me plenty of room. I acted very disinterested in them to try to put them more at ease. After a while, Jennie began a series of chirps and clicks and said very distinctly “Popo.” What was fascinating about this is that she didn’t say it distinctly at all, really. What she did was say “Popo” exactly the same way that Popo said it. She got the  dysarthric pronunciation and vocal tone nearly to perfection. Amazing! Then she would say things like “pretty girl,” let’s eat,” and “bed time.” These were all said in Mrs. Wilson’s voice, complete with her Haitian accent. You should have been there. Popo was delighted. If you’re interested, you can go on YouTube and see some videos of these birds talking. I think you should. You would love it.

After an hour or so I got restless and after a couple of pieces of Party Mix from Mrs. Wilson I went on my way. As I was walking home there was a curve in the road and there was a gathering of 4 or 5 adolescent male squirrels at the edge of the road. All of a sudden, one of the squirrels said to the others (in squirrel of course) “watch this.” Just then a car appeared coming around the curve and he dashed out in front of it across the street making it safely to the other side. Gloating from the other side of the street he said to the others, “Come on you try it.” Pretty soon another car came along and another squirrel shot across the street in front of  it, barely missing the tires. Before long all the squirrels had proven their manhood and none of them had been flattened. It looked like fun but I really don’t recommend the behavior. “Hey, watch this!” are famous last words. Well, these will be my last words for now. This is all the news from Happy Meadows for today. And if you have an opportunity and the timing is right, see if you can tell Spoiled Donald to grow up. It’s not funny anymore.































































Author: Black Magic

Black Magic is a handsome, charming, and self-absorbed cat who lives with Mike and Judy Gordon in Marietta, Georgia. He is about 7 years old, and he will remind you at every opportunity that his grandfather was Black Jack, that famous cat who wrote his own autobiography. Black Magic has a great many opinions, and despite his natural feline arrogance, he seems to be genuinely spiritual. But the reader can decide for him/herself.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *