McGee: What about my cat?

Grant McGee

It was a lazy Sunday. The Lady of the House and I both in our recliners reading different sections of the Sunday newspaper.

“Oh this is a guy with a sense of humor,” I said, talking about a story on the front page. “He died last August and now all of his friends are getting holiday cards that say, ‘Hello, please don’t call, I recently moved to a quiet neighborhood.”

“Interesting,” said The Lady of the House not looking up from her reading.

“Now there’s an idea,” I said. “I think I should write my own obituary for that big day in the future. You know, I could open it up with: ‘I died the other day…’”

“Just don’t accuse me of always having to have the last word,” said The Lady of the House.

“Well, are you going to write it?” I asked.

“No, I’ll be too sad,” she said.

“Maybe I’ll just hang around the house after I pass to see what you do when I’m gone. I could entertain Andi when I get bored. Cats can see ghosts.”

Andi is my cat. She’s part Siamese, part wild and feral, she likes to bite people, needs special attention, yells for me to share my yogurt with her and upchucks around the house from time to time.

She spends a lot of time by my side. She and The Lady of the House don’t get along.

“Who says your cat is staying here after you’re gone?” asked The Lady of the House.

“What do you mean? What are you going to do with my cat?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t had time to give it serious thought,” she said.

“Well I’m staying if you’re getting rid of the cat,” I said.

“Good,” said The Lady of the House. “I’d prefer you outlive that cat anyway.”