Today I had an odd thought. I was home, at my Mom and Dad’s, after Thanksgiving dinner #1 at Ashley’s folks’, before Thanksgiving dinner #2 with my family, trying to hurry along the digestive process by sheer force of will, when I said to myself, “Shit, I should’ve gotten Ottie some turkey cat food, this being Thanksgiving and all.”
Isn’t that strange. Why would I think, even for a second, that my cat would give two shits about Thanksgiving? It’s a totally human holiday (as are most of the other ones, if I remember correct, though I’m not 100% sure about Presidents Day), with an origin myth that centers on pilgrims and American Indians. The only animal ever mentioned is the turkey they all stuffed their faces with. Was there a cat aboard the Mayflower who somehow survived the winter without being turned into a roast, who shared in that great first Thanksgiving feast? If there was, I’ve never heard of it.
Cats don’t give a fuck about Thanksgiving.
Ottie loves Christmas, though. She climbs our tree and naps in the branches. Maybe she’d have more of a stake in Thanksgiving if we let her kill the turkey.
Something to think about.