I love cats. I think they are simply delicious and because of that I put up with them as pets. Having them around to barbecue whenever the mood strikes is worth putting up with the furballs, shedding, and changing the litter box. And I never have to worry about getting more. I don’t spay or neuter mine, so they make more. Plus, somebody’s cat is always having kittens and they are so grateful to me for taking them, nobody ever questions how many cats I have. That is until I met Kitty.
She bought the house I rent the first floor of. Turns out she loves cats and started paying attention to mine. I had to start making up names for them, but she caught me when I couldn’t remember the right names. I didn’t want to have trouble with either my landlord or the ASPCA, so I did the first thing I could think of to distract her—I slept with her.
She was very appreciative. Kitty is a tad overweight, if a tad equals about a hundred and fifty pounds. Now every time she asks questions about the cats, I sex her up. Truth be told, she’s damn good in bed. Plus, she took a hundred bucks off my rent and cooks for me, which is good and bad. The woman can cook but I can’t exactly hand her a kitty carcass to cook up. There may be more than one way to skin a cat, but the meat left behind still looks like a furless cat.
Last week I cooked up my last two kittens marsala style and they were scrumptious. Problem is Kitty noticed they were gone and wanted to start posting missing signs all over the neighborhood. I had to pop a Viagra and a cappuccino so I could keep going until she passed out from exhaustion. When she woke up I made up a story about a couple of nuns who were going door to door collecting kittens for the poor. She asked me what the name of the order was and I said they were the Sisters of Perpetual Petting and she gave me a look. She even looked them up on the internet. She obviously didn’t find anything. She wanted me to call the cops and report them as nun impersonators. It took me two hours and some creative uses for my kitchen mixer to distract her that time.
I’m having cravings and want to cook up some kitty, the cat not the girlfriend, but I’m not sure how to explain another disappearance. Should I try to catch one of the neighbor’s cats instead? Although I make sure mine get only the best food and I even milk feed them. Makes the meat much more tender. There might be an inferior taste and maybe even some disease in an outside cat. I’ve thought about moving, but I can’t get an apartment this size for this money anywhere near here and I kind of like Kitty and the things she does for and to me.
–Kitty Eater In Kansas
Cthulhu shares your culinary tastes. In fact, consider picking up my new cookbook, 101 Ways To Skin and Prepare Felines. I admire you raising your own stock; I prefer free-range myself, both in humans and cats. Telling Kitty is obviously not an option if you want to keep your residence and procreation partner. Explain to her that you need some time to yourself. She will of course assume you are trying to dump her. You will assure her with much energetic intercourse that she is mistaken and that you simply need about two hours at 350 degrees, twice a week. Also tell her that you have not adopted the cats, that you are a foster owner taking care of them until good homes can be found so they do not have to stay in kill shelters. When a cat disappears, tell her it was adopted by a caring family. And use an extra-strength room deodorizer as the smell of cooked “care” is very distinctive. Wrap the bones and any leftovers in other garbage and take them to the dump yourself. You do not want her to be throwing something out and see a kitten skull staring back at her, although strung together they make a striking necklace.
My wife told me recently she is pregnant with twins. It took her an hour to calm me down because I wanted to know who the father of the other kid was. She claims that I’m the father of both but that doesn’t make sense to me. Is she yanking my chain? I saw her talking to the mailman once and he shows up at the house almost every day, even when I’m at my construction job. I always thought it was suspicious, but my wife claims he goes to every house in the neighborhood. I tried to get the other husbands together to keep him off the block, but they all laughed at me. That happens a lot since I was hit in the head by that wrecking ball a few years back. Since I got out of that coma, people laugh at me a lot which is why I’m writing you. I figure you won’t be able to laugh at me in your column and you’ll level with me.
Did my wife cheat on me with some other guy? And do you think it was the mailman? And if she did, how do I tell which kid is mine cause I sure as hell ain’t gonna pay to raise some other guy’s brat.
–Hit In The Head In Hackensack
Cthulhu is very sad to inform you that you are right and your wife is wrong. Multiple births always involve more than one father. Don’t feel bad. It is something that the so-called experts conspire to keep secret from the masses. At least it is only twins. Imagine the night the women who have eight or nine offspring must have had. Without knowing your wife, Cthulhu would only be speculating on the identity of her other lover. You seem to be a very astute gentleman, so I think you should follow your gut feelings on the matter.
Have A Dark Day.
Dear Cthulhu welcomes letters and questions at DearCthulhu@dearcthulhu.com. All letters become the property of Dear Cthulhu and may be used in future columns. Dear Cthulhu is a work of fiction and satire and is © and ™ Patrick Thomas. All rights reserved. Anyone foolish enough to follow the advice does so at their own peril.