Black Hockey Jesus and his cat

Today I’m reposting from a blog that seems to have been shut down by the author, Black Hockey Jesus. (the old posts are still sitting in my RSS reader, which is a good reminder that once you’ve put something out into the web universe it’s pretty much impossible to get it back).

I was browsing dog blogs the other day and discovered the troubling trend of blogs “written” by dogs. “Hi, I’m daisy the poop-faced terrior, this is a blog about all the funny things I do each day! My owner thinks it’s funny to anthropomorphise the hell out of me and put words in my mouth”.

But then I found this very enjoyable post from Black Hockey Jesus and his cat, Luna. An example of someone writing from an animal’s perspective that isn’t lame as hell. I’d love to link you to the blog…if only it existed anymore! This post is about pet ownership and parenthood, both of which are not familiar to me, but I enjoyed it anyway, so I guess you might too.

Whenever anyone opens the glass sliding door, Luna, our cat, makes a mad dash for freedom and everyone panics except me because, seriously, if you’ve got a little smidge of wildness jangling around inside you trying to break through the veneer of your lame domesticity, fine, get the fuck out of here. I pretty much hate your guts anyway.

But then the second you go out to get her, she barrels back into the house like some pussy French philosopher all angsty about her freedom. I just shake my head at her. Is there anything more pathetic than a lame house cat? You know there isn’t.

BLACK HOCKEY JESUS: You don’t make any sense. Why do you bolt outside whenever someone opens the slider?

LUNA: It’s that wretched little girl. She pets me too hard and yanks my tail. So whenever I see a gateway to freedom, I swell up with the notion that any fate beyond the slider will be better than living with that 5-year-old monster. I’m telling you. She has to go.

BHJ: Dude. You’re a stupid cat. You will go long before the little girl goes, I guarantee you.

LUNA: But all I want to do is sleep and be stupid and she won’t leave me alone. Even when I bare my wild fangs to bite her, she persists.

BHJ: She’s a pain in the ass. I know. But I’m telling you. If you keep biting her, you’re gonna find yourself gone.

LUNA: Meow. This is preposterous! What am I supposed to do? Just let her terrorize me? For the love of God it’s my tail. You can’t imagine the way that shit hurts.

BHJ: Listen, fucker. She’s rough on all of us. She’s always angry and she banished any hope for solitude or peace. But do you see me biting her in the face? No. Biting her in the face will only get us kicked out. That’s the way it is. She gets to do whatever she wants and you don’t count.

LUNA: But that’s so pathetically anthropocentric. The fate of the world hangs on mankind awakening from its love affair with itself and realizing that animal forms of consciousness have as much intrinsic value as human beings. Why should I get kicked out when she’s the one who starts it?

BHJ: Because you’re a fucking cat, dummy. Listen. I’m trying to help your furry ass. You can’t bite the children.

LUNA: But you’re merely proving my point. I’m getting the shaft just because I’m a cat. But cats are a miraculous manifestation of Being unto themselves. There’s no logical ground upon which to value people in a greater way than cats.

BHJ: Hold the phone, philosopher puss. I’m trying to do my part by personifying you in a blog post. I’m trying to give you a voice above and beyond that whiny mewling you do when your water bowl’s empty. But you still don’t pay the mortgage, you’re still stupid, and—as far as I can tell—you’re absolutely fucking useless. Your only hope is to be cute but look how you’ve let yourself go. How the fuck did you get so impossibly huge?

LUNA: Oh man this is bullshit. Meow.

BHJ: Well then why the hell do you dart back into the house? Why don’t you make a break for it?

LUNA: Because I think that perhaps, in spite of its many drawbacks, I have come to love my confinement. I’m defined by this confinement.

BHJ: Well there’s fatherhood for you. Sometimes, the kids feels like a jail. But they are cute little jails. Yes. That’s it exactly. Fatherhood is a cute little jail where the wardens are short and mouthy and the bars are made of licorice.

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