You Have To Love Brothers

I’m in the living room with my little brother Salem when I see the Maine Coon from next door walking up to the window. I mention this to Salem, and he frantically starts looking around for a place to hide.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t go out with her again! She’s nuts. Just go along with me, okay?”

The Maine Coon walks up, and Salem flops to the floor and closes his eyes.

So, of course, I invite her inside. I throw a paw toward Salem, “He’s not feeling very well.” She looks over and frowns.

Then, being the good big brother that I am, I bend over and wipe his nose with a tissue, “I think it’s time for somebody’s suppository.”

#CaturdayNightLive

Photo of the adorable Beth on loan by her human Angie Elliott

I walk into the bedroom and Salem is standing in front of the mirror talking to himself.

“What. Are you doing?” I have to ask.

“I’m practicing my act. I want to be on Caturday Night Live one day.” He puffs out his tail a little.

I chuckle. “You want to be a Toonces? Man, I’ve met Toonces, and you ain’t no Toonces.” I shake my head at the magnitude of his delusions.

“No, I want to be like Will Feral or Jerry Strayfeld and do stand-up comedy.”

“Ummmm….okay. Show me what you got.” This ought to be good.

He slicks his whiskers back, stands up straight and holds a stick toy in his paws like it’s a microphone.

“What’s the deal with dogs? Am I right? I see these dogs all over the internet letting their humans put all kinds of shit on their heads just to get a treat. Now, that’s messed up. We cats don’t perform for our food. If we want to get a treat, we get right in our human’s face and tell them to GIVE ME A DAMN TREAT! Sometimes we even have to sit on their heads to get them to do it, but you can bet they do it. Damn dogs are trying to ruin it for everyone.”

I stare at him blankly, blink a few times and walk away. #ITryNotToEncourageThisKindOfBehavior #YouAin’tNoJerryStrayfeldEither

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#IHopeIt’sNotContagious

I’m curled up taking my nap when Salem paws me awake. I narrow my eyes and pause for a second before I decide whether or not to kill him now or after I finish resting and have more energy.

“Hey,” he pokes me again, “why is our little human crying?”

I lift my head a little, “Oh that. He has a horrible disease.”

“No kidding?” His eyes get wide and he stares at the small human slumped over the kitchen table sobbing uncontrollably. He steps back a little, “I hope it’s not contagious. What does he have?”

“It’s called Algebra.”