October 6, 2013 – I am adding an appendix to my journal entitled, How to Catch a Crooked Cat. First, hide out under the footbridge where the aforementioned feline hid a large stash of stolen moonshine from a particularly charming group of hardworking chickens. Then, when the cat returns to the scene to collect his loot, bombard him with previously licked marshmallows (slingshot optional). When the mouser is thoroughly covered in sugary cylindrical sponges, spin him around until he threatens to lose his lunch. (Do not continue spinning beyond this point if you, yourself, have a weak stomach.) As the feline wobbles in place, stand behind him and growl into his ear, “I know what you did to my rooster friend!” Explain to him how displeased you are that he intimidated and mistreated Tim. Enlighten him on the legal consequences of chickennapping, stealing proprietary information and moving alcohol across state lines. (Worry not, that what you are saying is actually factual. Truth be told, the law is a bit prickly about unlicensed distilleries in the woods. Maybe the cat didn’t actually cross a state line. He’s a cat; he won’t know the difference.) Educate him to the fact that you have him on video committing the crime (even though you don’t, because installing closed circuit cameras was a job Peaches was supposed to take care of, and she forgot). And then, knock him out with the final blow. Slap a bus ticket to Florida on his forehead (it will stick because of the marshmallows). Tell him in no uncertain terms, that he will be on that bus tomorrow; “RETURN NOT, YE LOATHSOME CAT! or fear my continued wrath.” I will be that shadowy figure in the morning hiding behind the mortared walls of the bus terminal. I will wave an insincere good riddance to the feline who smells of sweaty fur and a hint of S’mores. I… I don’t know why I’m talking like a commercial voice-over. I am grabbing my celebrity magazine, pouring myself a cup of warm tea, and heading for a long soak in the tub.
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