The End of the World


So, not long ago I went on a rant about cilantro (April 23, 2018, “Friday the 13th”). In my furor, I made a misstatement of fact, and I wish to set the record straight. I said that Judy thinks cilantro tastes like soap. Not so, although this is a common complaint among cilantro haters. She says it tastes like dirty sweat socks. This can’t be good, but it surprises me that she knows what dirty sweat socks taste like. Unless she is making the assumption that they taste as they smell, which could be the case. Only a dog would know what dirty sweat socks taste like. Mike’s friend had a dog (Joe, of blessed memory) who once ate a dirty sweat sock, and then lost control of his bowels. They had to have Zero Rez come in and make the house habitable. Fortunately, amidst all the mess a dirty sweat sock was found, so Joe didn’t require surgical extraction. So, Judy, please forgive my faux pas. I’ll work harder at fact checking.

Mike and Judy were out to eat recently, and Mike perused the drink menu. Drinking just isn’t what it used to be. Mike quit drinking a long time ago, but when he did drink he just drank: Jack Daniels in a glass, with ice. Or if there was no ice, Jack in a glass. Or if there was no glass……well, you get the idea. There were none of these silly fru fru mixes you see today. He has seen menus with two dozen or more different kinds of martinis. For a martini, all you need is a glass with gin, a dash of vermouth, and a couple of olives. Or if you don’t have olives, it’s okay. And if you don’t have vermouth, well, again, you get the idea. So, as Mike was reading the menu of silly concoctions, the “Spanish Garden” caught his eye. It consists of altos anejo, yellow chartreuse, chateau aloe liqueur, TBTB bitters, and yes, you guessed it, cilantro. Make it a double.

A friend of Mike’s recently went into a liquor store for a bottle of dinner wine, and as he was looking around, he noticed an entire aisle of vodkas. (A few years ago Mike read somewhere that 10% of the entire GNP of Russia was comprised of vodka production and sales. This may not be true, but it is a number worth sharing.)Not only was there a choice of cheap vodka, intermediately priced vodka, and expensive vodka, but there was a myriad of different kinds of flavored vodkas. There was every kind of fruit-flavored vodka you can imagine (including banana) but also other oddball flavors like chocolate, bubble gum, and wedding cake flavored vodka. Judy has told Mike that if he ever comes home with wedding cake on his breath she will know he has relapsed. So, Mike’s friend walked up to the clerk, a young fellow with less than impeccable hygiene, who looked depressed and bored out of his mind. Mike’s friend asked, “What’s with all these varieties of flavored vodka?” The clerk looked away for a minute and then replied, “It’s the end of the world.”

There is so little happening here right now, that I am reduced to reporting that Mike cleaned the cat boxes and put in fresh litter. It was so tempting that I took the first shot in the virgin box. Soon the other 3 cats were excitedly dumping their little loads. Mike was so proud of us, and said we had a veritable crapfest. Sometimes he accuses me of bringing in all my friends to use the box, but I wouldn’t, and he doesn’t really mean it. On another topic of major interest and importance, it took the neighborhood squirrels about 3 days to figure out how to get to our new bird feeder. Judy hung it out in front of the window where Ladybug likes to sit and look out. I suppose she enjoys looking at squirrels as much as birds.

The next topic of local interest, also completely true like everything else I report on from Happy Meadows, features PETA, that animal rights organization that has always been as determined as any organization I know of to go out of their way to  invite ridicule. A few days ago, early one morning, a truck driver going South on highway I-75 coming into the city lost control of his truck and turned it on its side.He was carrying cattle destined for the abattoir. Ten cattle died prematurely in the wreck, and the rest escaped and wandered around Cobb County until they were rounded up. Word has it that one is still on the hoof. Maybe it will show up in Happy Meadows. That would be so cool. I have never seen a cow up close and personal. So anyway, traffic was tied up for hours and everyone in Atlanta was talking about the event. I heard some sympathy for the trauma that the cows had suffered. But PETA has jumped on this like white on rice. There is an article in today’s paper saying they plan to erect a billboard near the crash site to honor the ten dead cows. The billboard will feature a gloomy-looking cow and the following quotation: “I’m ME, not MEAT. See the individual. Go vegan.” The worst thing about this is that it is as lame a saying as I have ever heard. And also, from the perspective of a cat, this is incomprehensible. The consumption of meat is as natural a thing as there can be. What could be more marvelous or natural to eat than a warm, furry, little mouse? It is God’s Perfect Food. Of course, people are free to decide for themselves what they want to eat; and they are equally free to express their opinions. But I think people should be consistent in their politics. I happen to know that within the past couple of years a truckload of chickens headed for market was distributed all over highway I-285, and no outcry from PETA was heard. Or at least, we didn’t get a billboard.

This is Memorial Day weekend. Let me express my personal feline gratitude to all the men and women of the USA who have risked or even given their lives so that I can be free to roam around in Happy Meadows and live with Mike, Judy, Shayna Maidel, Ladybug, and Jackson. And to those of you who are not in the Armed Forces, but who are engaging in the current struggle for freedom, God is blessing you, and you will not fail. Until next time, Sholom from Happy Meadows.

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.

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