Living Will

(Modification of joke I heard in an email…)

Last night my cat and I were sitting in the den and I said to him, ‘I never want to live in a vegetative state, dependent on some machine and fluids from a bottle to keep me alive. If that ever happens, just pull the plug.”

The cat got up, chewed on the computer cable until the screen went dark, and then opened my refrigerator and drank my beer.

Damn, that cat is smart.

[Not sure if this is funnier, or saddier than the original.]

0 thoughts on “Living Will

  1. DL Emerick

    Second cat story in recent bloggings.

    Do you plan to open a new sub-division for cats — or pets more generally?

    I am an indifferent supporter of all pets, of the practices of petting.

    I grew up on a farm, where animals were never pets, but productive or else. (Or else means they died sooner, at first sight, rather than later when we wanted to eat them — or use some product of them, like eggs, milk, hair (wool).)

    A cat survived on the farm by eating mice and the big barn rats who didn’t eat him first. (and large “chicken snakes” could be found, down at the old barn, preying on the rats and mice, as well.) A dog survived likewise, by keeping the rabbits and other pests down. Fish we did not keep in a bowl in the house; birds were nary to be found in any cage. As for all the other exotica — like pet snakes (how dumb do you have to be to keep a large boa in your home?), lions, tigers and bears — not a chance of being kept.

    It was insulting, though, ever to be called a “teacher’s pet” — though many said that of me — and it was true, to a large extent, that I was often a favorite and favored student of my many teachers over the years. I fought those, with my fists when necessary, who sought to characterize me and thus reduce me to a “kept plaything”.

    By like reason, I disliked Penthouse Magazine’s “Pets” — although not because I did not ogle them (their simulacra in spread-out photos, anyway) and do other obscene (?) acts just thinking of them and their bodies, as depicted. Petting one them would have been one of those acts of imagination I was never actually to realize — though such erotic fantasies continue to haunt my dreams, when I catch my mind escaping from reason.

    I suppose that makes my mind my most personal pet, for I want to keep it in a cage, somewhat imprisoned, to restrain it from all that it might do if unleashed, to feed it well on the choicest of morsels (food for thought must be healthy stuff, not the fat-laden stuff commonly found in the gluttonous mass(ive) media, which panders many kinds of sicknesses unto (brain)death).

    So I give you my pet.


    Koo-Kook-Achoo! Bless you, man!