Opposable thumbs and 'pooshy cats'

You may not realize the seriousness of the occasion, but National What if Cats and Dogs Had Opposable Thumbs Day is approaching. It's March 3.

I don’t know who comes up with these dubious holidays, but this one is definitely food for thought. As a cat person, I shudder to think what would happen if my two feline-Americans had opposable thumbs. I’ve always said if they could pop open their own catfood cans and get a government check, I would become superfluous.

But maybe the little beasties are more noble than that.

Some years ago I had a remarkable tuxedo-marked black and white cat who taught me, among many other things, not to judge a book by its cover. That not everyone is as he seems.

His name was Catsanova, and he liked people. Well, maybe that’s a stretch. He could be rude sometimes if he encountered a person he didn’t think measured up to his standards, but what he really liked was the attention people gave him.

Like the notorious lover for whom he was named — with a variation in spelling — Catsanova liked to be adored. Adore him and he’s yours forever, or at least until he remembers who feeds him.

He also liked to ride in the car. He learned early on that when we were moving slowly or stopped, there was a likelihood that if he sat upright on my lap and looked out the window, someone would see him, point and exclaim, “Oh, look at the kitty.” He loved that.

So here’s the situation. Catsanova and I are in the car, at a filling station, waiting for the gas tank to fill. This was back in the day when you could still get full service at a gas station. The full service pumps were usually farthest away from the station, reserving the closer pumps for people who pumped their own.

It’s a beautiful fall day, and the window is partially open. The cat is wearing a harness and leash to protect him from impulse. He’s curled up on my lap.

At the next set of pumps is a guy on a Harley. A typical-looking guy on a Harley. Big, burly, bearded. Dressed in black leather. Kind of tough looking. Typical biker kind of guy.

He’s sitting on his hog just looking around. As he glances in the direction of my car, Catsanova took that moment to sit up and look out the window. From outside, I heard kind of a bellow: “Aaaawwwwww!”

I look around, and the biker is getting off his bike, lumbering toward my car, exclaiming: “Aaaaw. Look at the pooshy cat. Hello pooshy cat. Can I pet your pooshy cat ma’am?”

He reached in the window, stroked the cat and said, “Hello, pooshy cat. What’s your name?”

He sees his wife coming out of the ladies room, and hollers at her: “Hey Dorothy. Come here and look at the pooshy cat.”

Catsanova was eating it up like caviar catfood. He had met a kindred spirit.

After a few minutes conversation, I realized I’d met a fellow cat person. Nice guy. A bit rough around the edges, maybe, but hey, if the pooshy cat liked him, he must be all right.

That day I learned people aren’t always the way they seem. You can’t judge a book by its cover. Even biker dudes have a soft spot.

So as I contemplate National What if Cats and Dogs Had Opposable Thumbs Day, I come to the conclusion that it’s a good thing they don’t. If Catsanova had had opposable thumbs, he’d probably have thumbed down the Harley, booted Dorothy off the back of it, and ridden off into the sunset with the biker where together they would find America.

Valentines We'd Like to See

Hillary,
You wowed them in New Hampshire.
In Iowa, not so much.
When you let a few tears fall
You showed a human touch.

While you’re out trail-blazing
Campaigning in a whirl,
Remember now, if you don’t win
You’re still my little girl.
Love ya, Bill

Hillary,
My fine, worthy opponent
You’ve really shown your stuff.
While you don’t have my charisma
You’re still no bit of fluff.

The issues notwithstanding,
This race is getting tough.
So I say with sheer sarcasm,
That you’re likeable enough.
Your buddy, Barack


Barack, John, Mitt, Rudy, et al.:
You’re such a bunch of good ol’ boys
Won’t give a girl a break.
So let me tell you here and now,
And please make no mistake.

I won’t take discrimination
That you all use to fight me.
As far as this woman’s concerned,
You boys can all just bite me.
Love and kisses, Hillary

TV Writers
While you’re out walking picket lines
We’ve occupied our days
With reading, games and exercise
And many other ways
Of finding entertainment.
So it’s good luck that we wish you.
Don’t worry ‘bout returning
‘Cause quite frankly, we don’t miss you.
(Former) TV watching public

To American voting public:
We’re going to back off a while
And give you all a break.
You’ve heard about us far too long,
We know, for pity’s sake.

So in the coming months ahead
A gift to you we’re bringing:
An end to nuance, slams, insults,
Trash talk and all mud-slinging.

No longer will your mind be filled
With rumor and distortion
And comments we direct to blow
All things out of proportion.

Did you really think we would?
Or are we being cruel
And mixing up St. Valentine’s
With an early April Fool?
Gotcha, The Candidates

Happy Fat Tuesday

Hallmark is missing out in a great opportunity. Fat Tuesday is coming up.

Now there's a day that we've not capitalized on. We party hard for Mardi Gras, but it's all in the revelry and the parades and throwing beads and getting plastered.

Isn't Super Bowl enough? C'mon! Listen to the name. Fat Tuesday. Fat.

Traditionally, the day has been observed as a way of using up items in the pantry before fasting at Lent, so as not to waste any food. Cooks would use up fat and eggs by making pancakes.

Fat Tuesday. Not wasting ingredients. Oh, the potential.

Here's a day to pig out. Like eating as much of your favorite foods as you can before the day you plan to go on a diet. I did that once. I'd decided to join Weight Watchers, so before the day I was going to sign up, I chowed down. And I enjoyed every bite of it. Right up to the time when I weighed in for the first meeting and realized that I could have gotten a jump start by actually doing nothing at all and not gaining the weight I did during the preceding days.

I digress here, but you get the concept.

You're gonna be giving up something for Lent. Might as well take Fat Tuesday for one last blowout.

Picture it. A Hallmark card to send to your Best Friend Forever (or Best Fat Friend, whichever): "Roses are red; Willows are bent; Stuff your face today; For tomorrow starts Lent."

Before the Valentine hearts go on half price sale (actually this year, before they even go on sale at all), stock the store shelves with Fat Tuesday boxes of chocolate. Wrap little chocolate balls in green, purple and gold foil, string them into necklaces, and you've got Mardi Gras beads worth collecting.

Start with a hearty Fat Tuesday breakfast of pancakes, followed by a midmorning snack of jelly doughnuts. Hit the KFC for lunch, then so you shouldn't grow weak from hunger midafternoon, indulge in a little pizza. Call your friends, invite them over after work, and serve up pasta Alfredo and cannoli for dessert.

Best of all, you don't have to feel guilty. It's Fat Tuesday. You're supposed to celebrate it; it's like you're expected to drink New Year's Eve. It's a holiday, for heaven's sake.

Newspapers will report on how grocery stores and delis raked in big bucks over the holiday, giving the name Fat Tuesday another meaning. It'll take on such gigantic proportions that, like Christmas, it'll lose its orignal sacred meaning.

Another American tradition whose time has come.

Let's get started on it!