Klarinet Archive - Posting 000791.txt from 2000/01

From: LeliaLoban@-----.com
Subj: [kl] Katz
Date: Mon, 24 Jan 2000 21:27:26 -0500

I'm making my lazy pet human type this.

Christina wrote,
<<<My dog loves cats..... they taste just like chicken!>>>

Kevin Fay wrote,
>>. . . actually, not bad if sauteed in a little white wine and butter . . .
>>

I suppose you think you're insulting me. Actually, as a clever, audacious
and successful predator myself, I can appreciate the idea that a
well-nourished cat might taste delightful. All predators grow up knowing
that someday we might get eaten by something larger than ourselves and
reincarnated according to what we have earned in this lifetime. I can't
speak about the taste of cats from personal knowledge, since we don't lower
ourselves to the practice of cannibalism (unlike some species I could
mention). Of course, anybody who wanted to try to eat me would have to
overcome my exceptionally fine set of climbing gear, not to mention that the
grappling hooks and so forth double as weaponry. I may be small but I am by
no means defenseless.

During a bleak period of my life, when I was only a young kitten, a rotten
human threw me and all my littermates into a smelly, roaring car monster,
drove us far from our mother and dumped us in a schoolyard. During the cold,
wet and hungry week or so while I searched for a new home, I investigated a
yard where a Boxer dog menaced me. He won't soon forget the lesson I gave
him when I carved him a new nostril. I soon found better accomodations a
block away from this house of infamy. The neighbor still walks the Boxer dog
locally. I hiss and cackle from my window and taunt the dog for letting
humans parade him on a leash. He doesn't like walking past here. With his
flabby chops quivering, he glances furtively at my window, then looks away
quickly, the big ugly overbred almost-naked coward. The little stub where
his tail used to be tries to squirm down between his legs.

Patty Smith wrote,
>Actually, i would love to feed my mom's Shi Tzu to Shadow Cat...listening to
me practicing forte altissimo passages and exercises has not succeeded in
killing it...yet...>

Moi.... Eat a DOG? Great Bast! What a disgusting idea! I mean, really,
have you seen what dogs eat? What they *roll around* in? I would STARVE
before I would eat a dog! The very thought will give me nightmares for a
week.

Maybe I could talk my pet human into taking her clarinet down the hill and
playing it at that Boxer dog. He would probably like it. Every cat in the
neighborhood would snicker at him, but he wouldn't be able to stop himself
from howling like a fool. An instrument fit for dogs, indeed.

Ken Wolman wrote,
>Well, Shadow, there is hope even for those who admire the screetch-stick.
Miles, my boy-cat, appreciates Bartok's Roumanian Folkdances. I had them on
the CD player this morning and he had his head up, listening. When I took
the CD out of the drive, he folded up and went back to sleep.>

>Oh cynical feline, get thee up and chase thee a catnip mouse!>

Practice mice are so boring. Besides, I don't do drugs.

It sounds to me as though Miles is a clever cat who appreciates, not the
so-called music, but the *threat*. He keeps watchful eyes and vigilant ears
tuned in on that CD player, just to make sure that no screech-sticks leak out
through the speaker holes. Clarinets can do that, you know. They're sneaks.
If they smell clarinets already living in the house, they'll come out of
hibernation on the disks, take advantage of certain music (Bartok gives
excellent cover) and try to join the party.

Clarinets can dematerialize and ooze through the speaker cloth. Little by
little, they trickle into the room, so subtly that only a cat with refined
senses would notice. Then, suddenly, all the molecules spring up out of the
carpet and out from under the furniture where they've been hiding. Faster
than you can say "rat", they jumble themselves together. Before you know it,
you've got a whole screech- stick *with* case *and* mouthpiece perching
impudently on a table and claiming squatter's rights and demanding cork
grease and reeds. If you've never seen such a thing happen, it proves that
Miles protects you against these stealthy invasions.

This talk of eating dogs gives me an urgent desire to go wash myself very
thoroughly.

Best regards to Pushkin and Miles,
Shadow Cat

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