As promised, tonight the Waukesha County Conservation Congress and County Congresses all over the state met to discuss the fate of feral felines who feloniously feast on our feathered friends.
Apparently, the song-birds attract more than the longing ear of the suburbanite and exo-burbanite; the pleasant sounds also attract the attention of mean old puddy-tats hungry for Tweety. So, some of our once-urban cousins have decided to take action to protect the morning song with the blast of a shotgun. The move to legalize cat hunting is on.
Who are these brave hunters, I ask, who would brave a mighty scratch and bite from the distant cousins of lions and tigers? “I shot the wild boar last summer. Last fall, the 16-point buck. But my biggest prize, a long white-haired Persian named Fluffy.”
Of course, the hunters would have to guess the names of their prey given that the trigger can only be pulled at the uncollared, but I suspect “Fluffy” will be synonymous with “Bambi” after a few years time.
What tricks will the hunter use? “I shot this tomcat by using this here squeaky toy.”
Will baiting be illegal? “I never have a problem filling my tags. Catnip, that’s the secret. Just don’t tell the DNR.”
What will the hunter do with his kill? Will we all be given Tabby Sausage? “Tastes just like venison” our hunting relatives will tell us. “Have some cat jerky.”
Or will there be a sudden boom in vaguely Oriental buffet restaurants in the north woods?
“I’ll have the cat-foo-young, the Mandarin mancoon and a double order of the tabby won tons.”
“Mmmmm, this lo-meow-mein isn’t bad. But the cat-suey needs catsup.”
“Let’s just sit a moment and chew the cat over some coffee. [cough, cough] Excuse me. Hairball.”
update (4/28) Welcome Carnival of Comedy Readers! Feel free to look around!
