Joe's Funeral,
Starring Me, Joe's Cat!
by Jon Sindell
"In
closing, I say to the spirit of my brother, God
bless you, Joe! May flights of angels bear thee
to thy rest!
"Excuse
me while I collect myself.
"And now,
dear friends, in accordance with Joe’s
express testamentary instructions, I would like
to invite Joe’s beloved cat, Muffin, to say
a few words in remembrance of Joe.
"Muffin?
"Ah, she's
scratching. We will wait. After all, as Joe once
said, if you’ve got an itch, scratch it.
Sound advice, no?
"Gawd,
still scratching. Muffin?
"Good
lord, she's stretching. Fair enough, can't blame
her for loosening the lithe, lovely limbs that
Joe loved so well. Oh, how he admired them! As
did we all, in the thousands of photos that Joe
shared in photo albums, on Facebook, on Instagram,
and in holiday calendars—every single year.
That big lug had a love for his cat that was
beyond compare. Beyond comprehension. Which is
the reason he insisted—I can show you the
clause in his will—that Muffin speak at his
funeral.
"Good
grief, Muffin, are you coming?
"Oh look,
she’s flopped on her side in a pool of
sunlight. Isn't that nice? Well, who could blame
her? Here we sit, misguided humans dressed in
dreary black and wallowing in gloom, while Muffin
reminds us to seek the light—as Joe no doubt
would want us to do.
"She’s
up! And sauntering this way. Come forward, Muffin.
Take your time. No need to hurry.
"She’s
stopped! Trying, surely, to tell us something.
Reminding us, I think, that we all must march—or
stroll, as the case may be—to the beat of
our own drummer. As did Joe, that lover of cats
and colored rubber bands. He had quite a
collection. Thousands and thousands, in all
colors and sizes. Dear, sweet, odd old Joe.
"She
advances!
"Oh,
bloody hell, she’s stopped again! Rats!
"No,
Muffin, it's a figure of speech, there aren't any—
good grief, there she goes, chasing a non-existent
rat into a pew. Which is fine. I'm sure she
intends to lay it in the casket as a tribute to
Joe, just as she laid so many dead sparrows and
bloodied but undead mice on his pillow as he
slept.
"Ah. She’s
completed her escapade and is stepping forward.
Pouting, of course. Look, I told you, cat, there
are no rats. People, wait, I've got an idea. I'll
put some of Muffin’s favorite treats in this
censer and shake it. She comes! Don't anyone move.
"Here’s
your treat on the lectern, kitty. Voilà! The
wondrous power of canned `Ocean Feast!' Just
speak into this. And now, dear friends, I yield
the mic to Lonesome Joe's dearest companion, the,
ahem, `Comely Comfy Queen of Cats.' Muffin?"
"Yes.
Well. So many faces looking up at me. Some
familiar, some not, all distressingly hairless
and dull, but with one essential thing in common—an
irresistible desire to gaze at me. Which is fine.
I'm used to it, believe me.
"I have
been asked to speak about Joe. Joe served me
several varieties of `kitty treats.' But
something's not a `treat' just because they call
it that. In reality, they are dry and rather
tasteless. I don't like them much. I ate them
because I was hungry, that's all. Like anyone
else, I prefer fresh-killed rodents and birds. On
the other hand, I did somewhat like the wet food
Joe served on my favorite china plate, the one
with the bluebirds. My favorites were `Kidney Pie,'
`Chicken And Liver,' 'Turkey And Rice,' `Mackerel,'
'Liver With Bacon,' 'Tuna Entrée'—the word
`entrée' was both superfluous and precious, as
it was the only course Joe served—and `Chicken
With Gravy.' `Beef And Cheese' was okay, but they
should leave out the cheese, it's disgusting.
Generally speaking, I like canned foods that are
creamy. I lick the wet part then eat the flesh. I
also enjoy a saucer of cream, but I don't care
for milk. Remember that.
"What
else can I say about Joe? Wait, I remember—the
oaf stepped on my tail once! But I got him. Teeth
and claws, babe, teeth and claws.
"Well,
will you look at that—Joe's cat-hating
brother is signaling me to stop. No wonder Joe
called him an arrogant jerk. Fine. Whatever. I've
got stuff to do.
"So let
me say in closing, I hope you’ve enjoyed
looking at me so long. No wonder my people were
worshiped in Egypt. If you'd like to gaze further,
you will find more than three-thousand pictures
of me on Joe‘s social pages. Also, I'm
available to pose for pictures for a price, but
be advised that I do not pose with children under
eleven, and there is an extra fee for sitting on
laps. Finally, If anyone would like to publish a
book of photographs of me, I'll connect you with
my agent.
"Enjoy
the funeral. I need to eat."
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