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An Obscure Conversation Between Josh and Dave the Cat (Part IX)*

-Hey, Josh.

-Hey, Dave.

-You know that cats, like me, are nocturnal?

-I think I read that somewhere.

-Which means we like to sleep during the day.

-You sleep plenty at night, too.

-Stop talking. I’m trying to make a point.


-What time is it?


-Which is daytime, which means I’m….


-Right. So stop blowing on that thing.

-I can’t do that. I’ve got World Cup Fever.

Dave-"There are so many things wrong with you."

-Do you want me to explain how stupid this is?

-No, it’s a real thing, kind of like Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.

-Then go to the doctor. Blow on your plastic trumpet there. God knows you’re a hypochondriac anyway. Besides aren’t you one visit away from filling up your frequent visitor card at the urgent care clinic.

-It’s two more visits—thank you—until I receive my free tongue depressor.

-Babies are smarter than you.

-Hypochondriac is such an ugly term. I prefer self-diagnoser. I’m telling you that I’ve got the World Cup Fever. I’ve got it bad.

-And that means you have to fill this apartment with obnoxious sounds?

-I think so. Everyone with World Cup Fever has a vuvuzela.

-It looks like a plastic trumpet to me.

-It’s not.

-I wish you’d put some clothes on.

-There’s no one here. Body paint is kind of like clothing. Ivory Coast orange.

-Well I’m here and you’ve never even been to the Ivory Coast and you’ve never played soccer for that matter.

– It’s called football. And I have played football… back when I was a kid. I was a stellar goalkeeper.

-Soccer, excuse me, football is pretty big in rural Colorado?


-Doubtful. I’ve been there.

-You hid under the bed the whole time you were there.

-I was… in need of some privacy.

-By the way to be proper, call it Côte d’Ivoire not Ivory Coast.

-French, huh? Your pronunciation is horrible.


-Stop being a smart ass. You should be rooting for America.

-I am. But Côte d’Ivoire is my adopted team.

-You look like an orange creamsicle.

-Their colors are orange and green and white.

-So where’s the green?

-Under the Speedo.

-Please don’t remove the Speedo. No. Please leave it on.

-You don’t want the full effect?


-Alex is going to kill you when she sees orange paint all over the new couch. It’s leather you know.

-I know.

-And don’t try to blame it on me. I’m too sweet for that. (Spoken in a falsetto voice) I’m such a sweet little kitty. Such a sweet little baby cake kitty face who can do no wrong. Such a sugar bowl little kitty cat with silken whiskers and a furry sweet face you could just eat like butter. Cutie pootie baby facey honey love. Poppy schmoopy lovey moomy tootie suckle love lump fur cakey. She loves me so much she’d eat my boogers for dinner and ask me for more. She’ll never buy it.

-I’m going to blame it on you.

-No you won’t.

-I will.

-I’ve always thought you were kind of a jerk wad. Blaming orange paint on little kitty.

-You’re not a kitty. You’re five years old. You’re fat.

-If you’re an Ivory Coast fan then I’m a kitty. And it’s muscle.

-That’s not what Dr. Sunshine said.

-Dr. Sunshine is a hippy vet. He’s a goober. He meowed at me while he stuck the thermometer in my butt.

-He was just trying to be friendly.

-New subject please.

-I’m not afraid to fly you back to Colorado to pay a visit to Dr. Randy Sunshine.

-Would you change clothes first or wear the orange paint?

-Don’t try me.

-Alex will be pissed.

-No she won’t. You’re taking the fall.

-Says who?

-Says this bag of kitty treats.

(Crunching) Fine. Give me one more and I’ll take the heat.

-Told you you’re fat.

-Told you you’re an idiot. By the way, you know that The Netherlands wear orange uniforms, too.

-I do.

-Is that why you’ve strapped fake elephant tusks to you head?

-Les Éléphants de Côte d’Ivoire. That means The Elephants…

-Your pronunciation still sucks.

-The Elephants of the Ivory Coast

-You’re an imbecile.

-You’re a sweet little kitty.

-Why are you writing this down?

-Because I love you.

*When you’re playing at home Dave’s part is to be read in a snooty French accent.

You’d think that someone who does nothing, such as myself, would have more time to write a silly little blog. And you’d probably be right. But doing nothing is often very hard work. There’s a lot of thinking and planning that goes into it. Do I continue making kissing sounds at Dave the Cat for another hour or should I philosophize about why Velveeta is not per se a cheese in the classical sense. (Yes, I have thought about that. What, exactly, constitutes cheese? But that’s another blog.) In fact, I go so far as to say that doing nothing is often back-breaking and time-consuming—my nothing is so intense that it requires two compound adjectives.

Jealous Cereal.

Take today, for instance. Today I thought about cereal for a while. Let me begin by saying that I adore cereal. In Spanish there’s fourteen-ish words for love and I’d use them all to explain my affinity for cereal if I hablaed Espanol. For now, “love” will have to do. I started the day off with some Kashi Strawberry Fields, which has a hint of sweetness and some nice red (dried) berries and flakes don’t get too soggy in milk. Delicious. There’s the Beatles reference, too, which doesn’t influence the taste necessarily, but does put me bouncy mood. Second course consisted of some banana nut Cheerios. This may sound gross. Personally I remember the fake-banana -flavored stuff that Dr. Gary Vance, DDS would use to numb my mouth just before sticking a needle in my gum. This was always followed by the drilling of and/or yanking at teeth. But banana nut Cheerios do not taste like fake banana. If they did, I wouldn’t eat them. They taste like heaven… heaven wrapped in glorious sunsets and served atop a shimmering rainbow. I love you, Cereal.

But then I couldn’t help but think about all the other things I love to eat for breakfast. Donuts, for instance, make me light-headed. Don’t get me started on omelets, especially when they involve bacon. I made an Italian omelet once with mozzarella cheese and homemade marinara sauce that made me weep. Biscuits and gravy make me want to Sweat to the Oldies with Richard Simmons. (I’m not sure what this means, but I think it’s really, really good.) So it’s not just cereal. I like breakfast… a lot.

Oh, Cereal. Don’t be jealous.

By this time it was almost lunch. Lunch is the lovely intermezzo between the opening tympani of breakfast and the fat lady that is dinner. Lunch, for me, means sandwiches. Holy crap. Sandwiches. I like sandwiches with mayo and lots of black pepper. I like good bread. I like rich cheese and fresh veggies and mustard and… turkey. Dammit, I love turkey. And bacon. I like a Reuben sandwich and I don’t know if they named it after the guy from the bible, but it makes sense given that one of the name’s etymological roots is a Hebrew word meaning, he will love me. A Reuben sandwich will love you and love you good. (This information came from Wikipedia, which we all know can be suspect, but it works so I’m going to run with it. Regardless of its accuracy, trust me, a Reuben sandwich will love you.) I like crunchy chips with my sandwich and an orange soda. I used to make sandwiches out of nothing but hamburger buns and BBQ sauce. I called it a BBQ sauce sandwich. What’s not to like? I like sandwich’s cousin, the wrap. The wrap is a one-handed sandwich. I once made a wrap out of yellow mustard and Gold Fish (the cracker).

Reubens: so loving.

Okay, so I like lunch too. Who doesn’t? Cereal, it’s not a denial of what we have together.

While I’m thinking about dinner I snack on some hummus and veggies. Hummus is a weird thing, but I love it. Wait, I should use a different word. I don’t want Cereal to think I’m cheating on it. Rephrase—I rely on hummus for intellectual stimulation…

No, no, Cereal, it’s not that you’re not intelligent… We just have a different relationship… No, don’t leave… Of course you complete me… How many times have I told you that we’re soul mates… Yes, but I’ve said it different ways… Do I have to actually use the term “soul mate…” But that was just one time… I don’t have a problem…  You’re just being emotional… Come sit down.

Oh, Cereal. Sure I love dinner, too. What do I love so much about it? I love… Sorry, I enjoy casseroles. Come out with me some time and we’ll get a nice chicken mole enchilada. Gnocchi with a Caprese salad to start. No, you don’t pronounce the “g.” Oh, Cereal, now you’re just getting nitpicky… It’s not hoity-toity, it’s part of the language… Yes, I love simplicity… You’re simple, Cereal. Maybe once in a while I’ll eat an entire large pizza with Canadian bacon and pineapple and jalapeños. Sure you can have bacon for dinner… It’s not gluttonous… You can have bacon for any meal… Oh, the Canadians have just as much right as anyone else. Well, now that you mention it I also like a buffalo burger… Yes, bison, tatonka. I’m being unreasonable?  Fine, how about this: I love butternut squash ravioli with fried basil leaves. That snooty enough for you? I love lightly seared Ahi tuna. I love raw tuna for that matter. You won’t even try sushi. Sure I like Velveeta… And bacon.


Don’t bring dessert into this… Because it’s unfair… Well, there are brownies and ice cream and homemade ice cream. Cobbler in the summer… I’m smiling because I like cobbler… It makes me feel nostalgic… I’m beginning to think you don’t understand me, Cereal. What about cake? Everyone loves cake. And there’s banana pudding. My mom makes the best banana pudding… Oh, this has nothing to do with her… Leave Sheryl out of this… Pecan pie and popsicles and bread pudding and cookies and panna cotta and tiramisu and…


Why’d you have to go there, Cereal? I don’t have a problem… Well, yeah… But doesn’t everyone love to eat?… Of course you’re enough for me… Most of the time… Twelve step program? Isn’t everyone a little skinnier in high school? It’s not a coping mechanism… What do I have to cope with? I’m needy? You’ve thought this all along? I’m just craving attention? The blog has nothing to do with it… Sure I eat to make myself feel better. What’s wrong with doing nothing?

I guess I’m bored… It might make me feel a little better… Yes, that sounds nice. Let’s go with the Honey Nut Cheerios. Not too much milk… And a big spoon… Have the Lucky Charms on standby.

-MC JLight