PETS | CATS | HUMOR

If I Ruled the World

Beaches, Banished Bugs, and the True Kings — t.h.e. Cat & Brother Bentley

Photo by Reba Spike on Unsplash

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If I were Supreme Ruler of the world I would drive the anacondas from Ireland — wait, what? St. Patrick already did that? All of them? Even the garter snakes?

Well, shit.

Okay, then, if I were Supreme Ruler of the world, I’d move to the coast and live on the beach. No, wait. It’s too damned expensive to live there and it rains too much. And there are way too many bugs. Though, I suppose if I were Supreme Ruler I could ban the bugs.

Seems a bit disingenuous though. A bit like the “Just say no to drugs” idea and probably about as useful. But we could repurpose the ICE guys. Instead of harassing imaginary illegals, they could round up cockroaches. Like Alberta, Canada’s Rat Patrol. We could offer an extra bounty on Fire Ants and Hornets — see how ICE guys like getting stung for a change.

Ooooh. If I really were the Supreme Ruler of the world, I could just make them move the beach here. We have lots of sun, and not a ton of rain.

Might be a problem in the winter. Nobody thinks about going snowshoeing at the beach. Though we could invent some new Olympic sports:

Beach Hockey, just watch out for the frozen barnacles growing on the goal frames. They’re nasty, sharp-edged little buggers — rip your gloves right off and if they hit the ice, they’re a total tripping hazzard.

Downhill Surfing on the frozen waves could be entertaining — probably need shorter boards for the mogul runs. Speed Volleyball would be a very fast game — mainly so the guys in their swim trunks don’t seize up between serves.

No, on second thought, maybe it’s best to leave the beach where it is and just visit more often.

Being Supreme Ruler is hard work.

But who am I kidding — I could just ask t.h.e. Cat, AKA Georgie the Creamsicle Menace, and Brother Bentley, the Bat Cat. The true Supreme Ruler of the World.

They will be the first to tell you how difficult their job can be.

Especially on weekends when their staff decides to sleep in. It may be a favorite passtime of the staff back in the bad-old-days before they were enlightened enough to share their home with felines. When they were (shh, don’t say it too loudly) — cat-less — according to the Supreme Rulers, a truly pitiable state.

They have both informed me — well, t.h.e. Cat did, Brother Bentley was chasing his tail in the sink — that though Supreme Rulers may indulge their staff occasionally in such whimsy, it is not deemed at all appropriate to keep the True Supreme Rulers waiting for their breakfast.

As t.h.e. Cat and Brother Bentley remind me at great length by stomping on the bed and purring loudly as a lure to entice their reluctant staff to the kitchen.

If all else fails, they have been known to employ such tactics as a brisk game of Wrap the Toilet — which consists of unrolling the toilet paper, loudly, with much gnashing of teeth and dragging the roll about the room while pretending it is one of those snake which fled St. Patrick and Ireland for the relative safety of the Americas.

Or by crawling under the blankets to head-bump and offer a free face wash.

Usually these tactics ensure they achieve their goals, but the Supreme Rulers have also informed me one of the many changes they would like to institute is a food-on-demand system, unfettered by such nonsensical non-feline concepts as “meal-time” and strict adherence to “time-of-day — an obviously non-feline construct which holds no real meaning. Any feline Supreme Ruler can tell you meal-time is whenever the cat is hungry.

Another thing Georgie and Ben have decided must change is this ridiculous — again, non-feline — notion of seasons.

All cats know there should be only one season — sunny, warm but not too hot, and definitely not rainy, mousing season. A time when all good cats enjoy the out of doors without that pesky thing non-felines insist on having at great length in this part of the world. For far too many months.

Drenching the known universe in freezing-cold white shit. It hangs around far too long, and it’s no fun digging for mice while your paws are freezing.

À bas l’hiver! (Down with winter)

Well, there goes my Ice-Beach Barnacle Hockey and Speed Volleyball. To say nothing of Downhill Frozen Wave Surfing.

Sigh — I was sure we had a winner there.

Maybe next time.

This was inspired by a Wordsmiths’ Weekly writing prompt. With thanks and gratitude to our amazing host Susan Brearley Thanks to Chris Yanda for the editorial assist.

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