I was sitting in the Rocket Cat cafe with my friend Lynn after we’d spent the morning at two local thrift stores. She kept talking about a flyer on the wall for a cute lost kitty (she’s a cat lady) and somehow we got sidetracked into a conversation about unemployed cats.
“You know what these cats need? A taste of some Orrin Hatch! We need to be drug-testing those lazy ass kitties!” I said. For some reason, this struck us both as incredibly funny.
“Yeah, I should put those cans of wet cat food on the floor and tell mine, ‘Open it yourself. If you can’t figure it out, you don’t eat‘ ,” she said. “Oh well! You can’t get up off your ass and open a can, it’s not my problem.”