What does it say about us – a nation of so-called democratic free thinkers – that not a single, solitary, ass-kissing soul stood up in defense of our Leader's blow-up wife, Mrs. Harper. I would have thought one tax payer, looking to have his potholes filled, would have raised the blue freak flag. Tory Spelling didn't even call. But did the kitty litter ever hit the fan over my mild, cat slagging. (See Thursday) I didn't even get started on how I think there should be a "Cat Trick" in hockey, and instead of tossing a perfectly good hat, everyone throws a dead... er, never mind.
I thought I was nuts, but it was so refreshing yesterday, to find out that my deck is full compared with some of you people.
One really disturbing response came from reader who I will not mention by name, other than to say it begins with A, ends with Y and spells: Intervention.
I thought I was nuts, but it was so refreshing yesterday, to find out that my deck is full compared with some of you people.
One really disturbing response came from reader who I will not mention by name, other than to say it begins with A, ends with Y and spells: Intervention.
Not only did this crazy cat lover send me photos of her freaky-looking felines, she told me a tale that I will share with you today. Gather round.
Once upon a time, there was a woman who loved cats. She loved her cats so much that she was curious about what they were thinking. The woman who loved cats did some research and found another whack job animal psychic who claimed she could speak to animals. Even the dead ones. For $40 bucks. (I am in the wrong business. I'll tell you what Fluffy is saying for $15.)
Trust me it gets worse.
Lauren, (not to be confused with Laureen, aka Mrs. Harper) the animal psychic at "Animal Talk with Lauren" talks to dogs, cats, horses etc. and claims she can "ask the questions that you always wanted to know - and get answers for you".
I realized, then and there, that I never really needed to know what my dogs were thinking. I figured a wagging tail meant: life is good. Licking balls meant: life is really good. And eating cat shit out of the neighbour's shrubbery meant: my food sucks, but life is good now, want a kiss?
Lauren is in Ontario, but, don't be discouraged, she does readings over the phone. All you have to do is mail in a picture of your beloved pet, dead or alive, along with your cheque or money order.
This is the fun part. My friend did just that. She sent the goat whisperer some Canadian Tire money and a photo of her cat, Angus. And waited. The animal psychic called, and said, among other things, that Angus didn't like the clicking noise of the keyboard. She said, Angus didn't like it when they picked snot balls out of his nose. And Angus it seems, was a little light in the loafers because, according to the psychic, he liked to watch American Idol.
I know, I know... NO ONE likes American Idol, do they? Well, except it seems, my friend's cat. I cry bullshit but my friend was satisfied and said now she'd have something to talk about if Bridgewater ever hosted a dinner party.
Then, I had a thought.
Allow me to quote from Lauren's website: "Having developed and practiced my talent for many years, I speak for animals. I willingly provide a voice for the non-human creatures of our world in the hope that I may assist them to obtain greater health, better understanding of their expected roles and better relationships with their human partners."
Non-human. Expected roles. I say for $40 bucks, we've found Mr. Harper's new speech writer. He is after all, a jackass.
halifaxbroad@gmail.com
Find out what your little hairball thinks at www.animaltalk.ca or call me at 902.422.0712. I too accept cash, cheques or Canadian Tire money.
