Queen of the Bondo

The cat is always watching.

Since I’ve been unemployed, I rarely talk to anyone other than my cat. Whereas my weekdays used to hang on the predictable parameters of a morning commute, lunch hour, and evening commute, they are now defined by Cat Breakfast, Cat Lunch, Cat Dinner, and Second Cat Dinner. Each of these events involves ten minutes of being yowled at and herded towards the fridge, which, we think, the cat has started to believe in as a liver-and-bacon dispensing god.

Many times I’ve pictured myself strolling onto the set of Jeopardy, the inimitable Johnny Gilbert announcing me as “a freelance cat feeder from Cleveland, Ohio!” As the crowd breaks into piteous applause.

To cope with this, I’ve become a sort of feline Weird Al, wasting my creative energies composing on-the-fly “cat songs.” Take this one, for example, to the tune of The Greatest American Hero theme song:

(My cat’s nickname is P, which used to stand for something else but as of late stands for exactly what you think it does.)

Believe it or not, P’s not gettin’ ham
She never thought you could be so mean!
You’re wasting your time
makin’ food for that man!
Why can’t you see?
The hungry one here is poor P!

(Here’s the video, in case you need help remembering. Also, good luck getting it unstuck from your old noggin.)

Or this one, to the tune of the
theme song from Arthur (the incorrigible drunk, not the sensitive, bookish aardvark):

When you get lost between the fridge and New York City
The best thing you can do
The best thing you can do
The best thing you can do
Is follow P.

So come on, give me a break, huh? If you do, I might just promise to write a song about you.