Take Your Cat to Work Day is Stupid

This weekend I became aware of a movement to institute a national "Take Your Cat to Work Day". Apparently, somebody who doesn't own a cat decided that this would be a good idea, and now I am going to have to spend considerable time convincing my human companions that this is a bad idea. A very bad idea.

If I wanted to go to work I'd get a freaking job. The fact is, I get to spend my days chasing imaginary animals around the house, napping, and begging for food. Why would I want to interrupt this endless pleasure for the monotony of listening to people talk on the phone?

I am sure that lots of people would like the idea of a cute, fuzzy cat hanging around their desk all day. And I'm certainly not going to claim that I don't find occasional pleasure sitting on top of my daddy's desk, swatting at his pencil, and chewing on the papers that he is trying to read. But that is in the comfort of my own home and I don't have to listen to Matilda talk about her rash.

My suggestion is, if you want to take a pet to work, take a dog. (But don't take a Yorkie. They aren't real dogs and they are very annoying.) Or better yet, get a goldfish. You can just leave it on your desk in a little bowl, and then when it dies, you can take it home to feed to your cat.

An Idea

I have an idea for a really neat invention, but since my dad won't let me use power tools, I need some help. I think someone who can drill holes and cut wood should be able to make a prototype very easily. But I'm a cat, so what do I know.

My idea is to take a piece of wood about 8 inches long and drill a hole in it. Then take another piece of wood about 10 inches long and drill a hole in it. Put the two pieces of wood together, taking care to line up the holes. Then pound some nails into the boards so that they stay together.

Turn this assembly on its side and drill a hole into the other holes. Take some string and push it through this hole and then tie it. Repeat the string step 2 more times, so that there are a total of 3 pieces of string tied to the wood.

Next, put the wood on something that is kind of high in the air and let the string hand down. Then step back and watch your kitties play and have fun. I have a lot more ideas like this.

For example, I think somebody should invent something that I will be able to turn on just by thinking about it. This thing will then scamper about like a mouse, but it won't run and hide behind the stove. It would really be cool if this could also fly, because I love to jump real high at flying things. In fact, I love jumping so much that sometimes I do it even when there isn't a flying thing around. But I digress.

My sister Rikki sometimes comes up with ideas, but to be honest, they are not very good. For example, she thought a good toy would be to nail two pieces of wood together, drill a hole in them, attach some string, and then put the wood up real high. I don't know where she gets such silly ideas, but I suspect that she was dropped as a kitten.

Regulation without Representation

It has recently come to my attention that the Obama Administration wants to regulate cat food. In making the announcement Secretary of Agriculture Tom Vilsack called cats "one of our sacred national treasures" and expressed concern that cats might be receiving food that is not worthy of "their elevated status".

I don't know anything about this Vilsack fellow, but what I eat is none of his damn business. He doesn't own me, he doesn't feed me, he doesn't pet me. In fact, he doesn't know me or anything about me. What perverted ideas does this man hold that he thinks he can tell me what I can eat?

Vilsack singled out Tuna and Egg as an example. Tuna and Egg happens to be my favorite treat. I don't get it often, and the thought of never having it again makes me want to hop on a bus and go poop in his shoes. But I don't have money for the bus fare and I doubt that my human companions will let me borrow their credit card.

But a deeper issue is at play here. My limited understanding of American history tells me that the colonists rebelled when England began taxing them without their consent. They disputed the right of the King to tax them while denying them representation. Regulating my food is no different--it is regulation without representation.

The last I checked, I am not allowed to vote. (I'm not allowed to drive either, but that is a different issue for a different day.) Even though I have no voice in electing the President or members of Congress, the federal government now proposes to come along and yank away one of my life's greatest pleasures. And why? Because Vilsack claims that Tuna and Egg contains tuna that isn't fit for human consumption.

Well I've got news for this intellectual retard--I'm not a human. I'm a cat. And I am perfectly happy eating whatever it is in the can labeled Tuna and Egg. Christ, I lick my butt after all. Why does he think I care about the quality of the tuna in my Tuna and Egg? I know why--because he is an intellectual retard.

I've got news for Vilsack. He can have my Tuna and Egg when he pries it from my cold, dead lips.

I Nap, Therefore I Am

The French philosopher Rene Descartes is perhaps best known for his statement "Cogito ergo sum", or "I think, therefore I am." This was the foundation of his philosophical system and it had a significant impact on Western philosophy. While others may find great profundity in the statement, I am troubled by it.

Descartes claimed that the fact he could ponder his own existence was evidence of his own existence. But what about all of the other things in the world? Did he doubt their existence? According to my rather limited knowledge of Descartes, he began his "meditations" by doubting all of existence. Upon "proving" his own existence, did he then conclude that other things exist as well? And if so, on what basis? Philosophical cats want to know these things.

It seems to me that I could just as easily "prove" my own existence by declaring "I nap, therefore I am." Since I am cognizant of the fact that sometimes I am awake and sometimes I am asleep, I am aware of an activity. And for there to be an activity, there must be something engaging in it.

The fact is, I can observe things--like birds, squirrels, and my food bowl. My eyes do not delude me, filling my head with fantasies. And if I can ever get my mouth on one of those juicy squirrels, I will prove it so convincingly that even Descartes could not doubt it.