Who Runs the World? Cats.

I often imagine aliens hovering over my house, looking down, using my life as a metric for humanity’s right to exist.

I considered this yesterday as I pooper-scoopered the last bit of poo from my cat’s litterbox into my Stop n’ Shop bag then peppered the top with clean pebbles. He came up beside me, jumped in — made eye contact — and left a lump of fresh stuff right there under my nose.

His name is Cookie.

I smiled, pat him on the head, and went off to the kitchen.

Above, the aliens watched. They were small and green and big-eyed. The taller of the two asked, “Why did the large dominant life form just do that? Do you think that small, and clearly inferior life form, is poisonous? Or perhaps it morphs into a large beast if it is displeased!”

In the kitchen, I started to make myself something to eat. Cookie walked in. He looked down at his water bowl. There was only about an inch of water in it. He looked at it, then up at me. Then, he knocked the remainder of the water onto my kitchen floor.

“Aw silly,” I said, “would you like some more water?”

A crowd gathered on the Alien ship. Some comedian called out, “well shit! The dominant race on this planet is already enslaved!”

When my girlfriend came home, we had sex. Cookie sat on the coffee table beside us and cocked his head from side to side. Then he jumped onto the bed and clawed at my feet.

My girlfriend laughed, I laughed.

The commander of the alien craft was roused by the noise and came to see what all the fuss was about. “These creatures are so docile!” He proclaimed. “They do not become aggressive towards their oppressors even during copulation. This is most unusual!”

After sex, my girlfriend and I wanted to watch a movie.

I headed into the kitchen to make popcorn and, while I stood there, Cookie leaped from the table and onto my back. He perched himself on my shoulder, reached one claw around, pressed it to my neck, and whispered in my ear, “I fucking own you.”

I pulled him down, buried my face in his furry neck, and said, “aww, Cookie.” Then I cooed lovingly and kissed his forehead.

I can’t imagine what the Aliens might have thought because by this point. They’d already jettisoned off in disgust.


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2 replies to “Who Runs the World? Cats.

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