Imagine my surprise, returning from a deep underground mission, to this headline at the bottom of my litter box:
Year of the Cat
Horgan had run out of scoopable clay again and replaced it with his backlog of New York Times Fashion & Style pages.
The box was reasonably clean. I sat, and read.
How could he have failed to let me know? 2013 was my year, and it’s almost over!
According to the article, the year warrants the label because not only are there 86 million cats in American households, but more importantly, Monopoly has a “silver pussycat” token, reality “Cat TV” shows are popping up, and even Grumpy Cat has his own book (I could be that famous, if I weren’t so cheerful). Plus, three other cat books have been published.
Bah. One was about an adorable cat who ran away, and came back. I do that all the time. I actually nabbed a Russian spy once while I was at it. All I got rewarded with was a bowl of warm milk and loads of paperwork.
After I finished reading the article, you can guess what I did next.
(But Lester McMuffin, curse his betraying soul, went straight to Amazon.com.)