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Her Cat

Her cat gets into people's backpacks all the time. This is no exaggeration. If the cat is not shitting, eating, or sleeping, he is in a backpack or en route between a backpack and one of the other three activities.

This cat believes it is the son of Jesus. Don't ask me how I know this. It's just one of those things that flash on your mind out of the blue. New knowledge imprinted on the brain, Polaroid-style.

But I digress.

I was telling you about Jesus, Jr. and backpacks. JJ is convinced, you see, that people carry their sins in their backpacks and so he's always working to root them out, wrestle them to earth, and destroy them. This cat, this Jesus, Jr., is the great cleanser, and many friends have commented on the lightness of their loads when they've shouldered their backpacks after a visit with her.

And this is why I don't visit her anymore. Because I prefer to take on my sins myself. I don't want no cat to die on no cross for me, and that, I think, is where her cat is inevitably headed. I don't know who would want to crucify a cross-eyed Siamese, but I can see it coming, and frankly, I don't want to go through all that "Is it I who will betray thee, Lord" shit. Especially with a cat. I mean, come on. I've got some limits.

She thinks I don't visit anymore because she won't sleep with me anymore, but I can deal with that. I just can't deal with this New & Improved Testament Jesus, Jr. seems to expect me to write. Forget it. No, thanks. Leave me out. Go be Christ on somebody else's cross.

Too bad I still love her. Stupid cat.

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