Adding 'Cat In The Bag' To The Caravan

Oh, my. It is with no small trepidation that I take this step, and an explanation is owed to the good readers of this blog. Many of you have stuck with me through thick and thin, through drug-addled but soaring prose I plagiarize imperfectly from elsewhere and through the boring rants I write all on my own. Now, you have to trust me just one more time. You promise not to freak out, ok? Alright. I'm linking to...the words won't form...a blog...with Fluffy Kitty Syndrome (FKS).

Zoey, a bona fide cat with enough hair to simultaneously clog more than one commercial-grade toilet, and a mysterious other person make up "Zoey & Me," the keepers of Cat in the Bag. They are members of the dangerously burgeoning, completely brazen Fluffy Kitty Kult, and they have linked to this blog. This was a baffling and entirely unexpected event. I am aware of no other people afflicted by Cat Insanity who come here at all other than Lord Mom, who has an advanced, late-onset form of that dread disease. Understandably, most people who link here to ABH require payment in advance, sums which are not subject to transparency. So Zoey and the Me-Person, I appreciate the free link very much. But.

It is difficult to describe how compellingly revolting, how jolting, how hauntingly Velvet-Feline-Elvis the disturbingly frequent and graphic, cat-focused posts are which appear on Cat In The Bag. The superimposed pink wigs, the Liberace piano poses, the unruly Mongolian furs and obscene props conspire to do irreparable violence to psyches unshielded or injudiciously prepared. While the political analysis provided by "Me" is undeniably brilliant, each post as short, as gracefully unsparing as a Muhammad Ali uppercut packed with the kind of content ABH is always looking to share, I have to warn you. Of possible consequences. I mean other than those which naturally come from being subjected to Animal Porn, the images of which no amount of Electro-Convulsive Therapy can completely erase.

What consequences? I'll tell you what consequences. Cat dander. Gross, strange-smelling food. Vet bills. Tumbleweeds of shedded hair across an otherwise spotless floor. Tufts which come from nowhere to glue themselves onto door casings. Possible pulmonary health effects akin to huffing asbestos. A litany of litter boxes steadily accumulating with the encrusted, unmentionable products of this takeover of humanity by a plague of feral beasts who incessantly nag and bully based upon the trivial dictates of their weirdest, wildest whims. I warn of watery eyes, sleepless nights, and fits of incapacitating sneezing. Of something in the dark trying to alight on your head with claws. If you do not own a cat, I warn that few are immune. You may become infected if you go to the new link not properly steeled against the fate of cat ownership, my real concern. Fair warned is fair armed, but proceed at your own risk.

If you take the risk and cautiously peruse Cat in the Bag, you'll notice the arrestingly garish visual aesthetic which is so horrifying in the pursuit of cat worship is transformed when once turned to political and social commentary. The graphics are sublime when constrained to matters which concern us as citizens of the world and the United States vicinity of it. In that context, I will gladly reciprocate (as I've been meaning) to prove my status as an open-minded Blogo Sapien, and to celebrate the presumed first-hand association of Zoey & Me with the newly-linked and much-appreciated View From The Moon.

So welcome, Zoey, and "Me". I'm taking my anti-allergens and have been diggin' your blog. And it must be disclosed that I am infected like you, but have apparently had access to better medical care, so the effects of FKS are not so far advanced. Nonetheless, I've allowed the impression to form in a certain cat that I am his chattel, and that my sole worthy pursuit in life is to please him. I also have been fighting the growing suspicion that I could successfully run for office in my feline-infested neighborhood on a platform of Equality for Cats. Is this how the sanity for which I've fought so hard will end?

Given that these creatures are collectively coddled like an emperor's offspring around here, I could go door to door and win enough votes (despite my manifold deficits) to get elected to the City Council of one of the most influential cities in the country on a platform consisting of little more than feline advocacy. Hey, single-issue campaigning worked for the gay marriage candidates. Why not for Cats' Rights? It's high time. Cats are natural progressives. They are the only animal in recorded human time to domesticate themselves. Was that smart, or what?? Annoying as they may be, these animals are geniuses. Consider: they are perfectly capable of feeding themselves, yet have trained us to do so. This single fact should call appropriate questions about who or what is actually running this planet to mind. Therefore, I submit that cats immediately deserve legal rights at least equal to those enjoyed by dogs. What could be more evident?

With both cats and politics, there is much which is emphatically not evident. Much is hidden, and will remain so. Perhaps cats have been the purring the Lao Tzus of progressive politics all along, controlling us far more than we know, too amused, polite, and content to end the charade.