Webster
We’d been fighting it for years and years, and we finally gave in. Our cat Webster is seeing a psychiatrist.
It was his idea, not ours. He kept saying this house he lives in was driving him crazy, and I have to admit the symptoms are there for all to see. Web sits for hours at a time staring out the window, sighing, shaking his head. He won’t say what’s the matter. Just that he could’ve had a better life than the one he ended up with. He has to watch TV all by himself because no one likes the programs he watches. He’s on MySpace but no one responds to his postings. His reaction to almost everything is HAH!
The truth is that Web thinks he’s better than his surroundings. He thinks he’s better than us. He should have been a high-priced show cat. He should have been in “show business.” That’s what he thinks.
After his first session with the shrink, Webster comes home sullen.
How would YOU like it if you had no idea who your biological parents were and you had adoptive parents like YOU TWO, he says to us. YOU TWO drive me crazy.
What do you mean YOU TWO, I ask him.
Well, you gotta admit YOU TWO aren’t normal. One of you is from California (that’s abnormal enough) and YOU, sir, are from Alabama, Mr. Southern Man exemplar you think of yourself. All YOU do is your job, read books, and pick the wax out of your ears. MOYNA is always in the kitchen or else is watching “Big Brother.” How DID you two ever get together?
I know it’s hard to understand, Web, but it just happened. A mystery of God. Or serendipity.
Hah, mystery of mysteries, and I got stuck here. At least Doo-Rail leaves me alone. He’s in his own world. No matter what you say or do to that cat, he just smiles and goes right on. Actually, that in itself drives me crazy. ALL of you here drive me nuts.
What did the doctor tell you today, I ask Web.
He said something really profound: I need to get in touch with my inner kitten. Isn’t that profound! I’m paying $200 an hour to hear nonsense like that? I don’t need any of that David Copperfield stuff.
Maybe you should.
Get in touch with my inner kitten? Hah!
Maybe you need a vacation, Web.
Where are you going to send me?
How about the Humane Society, buddy; then maybe you’ll appreciate what a good life you have here at this house.
Web glares at me and stalks off. The cat is disturbed, no doubt about it.
It was his idea, not ours. He kept saying this house he lives in was driving him crazy, and I have to admit the symptoms are there for all to see. Web sits for hours at a time staring out the window, sighing, shaking his head. He won’t say what’s the matter. Just that he could’ve had a better life than the one he ended up with. He has to watch TV all by himself because no one likes the programs he watches. He’s on MySpace but no one responds to his postings. His reaction to almost everything is HAH!
The truth is that Web thinks he’s better than his surroundings. He thinks he’s better than us. He should have been a high-priced show cat. He should have been in “show business.” That’s what he thinks.
After his first session with the shrink, Webster comes home sullen.
How would YOU like it if you had no idea who your biological parents were and you had adoptive parents like YOU TWO, he says to us. YOU TWO drive me crazy.
What do you mean YOU TWO, I ask him.
Well, you gotta admit YOU TWO aren’t normal. One of you is from California (that’s abnormal enough) and YOU, sir, are from Alabama, Mr. Southern Man exemplar you think of yourself. All YOU do is your job, read books, and pick the wax out of your ears. MOYNA is always in the kitchen or else is watching “Big Brother.” How DID you two ever get together?
I know it’s hard to understand, Web, but it just happened. A mystery of God. Or serendipity.
Hah, mystery of mysteries, and I got stuck here. At least Doo-Rail leaves me alone. He’s in his own world. No matter what you say or do to that cat, he just smiles and goes right on. Actually, that in itself drives me crazy. ALL of you here drive me nuts.
What did the doctor tell you today, I ask Web.
He said something really profound: I need to get in touch with my inner kitten. Isn’t that profound! I’m paying $200 an hour to hear nonsense like that? I don’t need any of that David Copperfield stuff.
Maybe you should.
Get in touch with my inner kitten? Hah!
Maybe you need a vacation, Web.
Where are you going to send me?
How about the Humane Society, buddy; then maybe you’ll appreciate what a good life you have here at this house.
Web glares at me and stalks off. The cat is disturbed, no doubt about it.
posted by Fred Hudson at 12:36 PM
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