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Here we are, the old man and the fat cat, sitting at the kitchen table.

Well, I at the table, the cat on the table.

“If Mom were still here, you wouldn’t be up on this table. And get your paw off of my pen! Who’s writing this story anyway? What’s this, a cat hair or a comma? I have enough trouble with punctuation with your help, thank you!”

So, come on, tell the old many, how’d you lose your tail? Some time ago lost war? Get your butt kicked by a mountain lion? Well, you didn’t have it when you came here to live with me, so no use meowing about the housing, looking for it as though it’s another one of your lost toys.

Now, as for those other missing parts, the vet took those. No, that’s vet, as in veterinarian, not as in veteran of foreign wars. Just listen to the old man for I know what I’m talking about, only in my day, they didn’t call if neutering, but vasectomy. And as lazy as you are, fat cat, you wouldn’t have made a good family provider anyway.

So, “man up” and accept your losses. You don’t see your sister Stella, the dog, moping about the house searching for her lost toys and things, crying about not being able to have puppies.

Listen to the old man, for I know what I’m talking about. Just look at this stack of lottery tickets here on the table. Yes, all losers, a good chunk of my Social Security checks. Now you don’t see me crying about that, and I’ll still take the senior citizens bus to Foxwoods this fall.

And if we don’t get some rain soon, we’ll lose the rhubarb, and that means no strawberry-Rhubarb pie. Oh well, Mom’s not with us to make the pie this year anyway.

Okay, fat cat, let’s ;lighten up, enough about our losses. What say we have some fun? We’ve still got our sense of humor, don’t we? Now, Aunt Maybel and Uncle Phill will be stopping by to pick some rhubarb soon. That is, if we get the rain and the rhubarb comes up.

So what say we make a sign and place it in the rhubarb patch. Something like this:

The cat couldn’t kitten

And the dog couldn’t pup

And the old man couldn’t

Get the rhubarb up!

Count the blessings of all we still have,

Carl Granberg


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