Bea's Big Fat Mouth and Kind Heart


Here is where I start to question my intelligence. I was asked a while back whether I would be willing to cat sit for a friend for the month of August. And by “cat”, I mean that in the plural sense. I said no, because I find even looking after one cat challenging enough. I knew too that I would be moving into a bachelor and thought that 3 cats might just be a bit much for a place only slightly larger than a breadbox.

Conveniently I used my little Destruct-O-Matic 5000 as the reason for my negative reply and proceeded to give many examples of his unruly behaviour, both towards his former BFF Spaz… which ultimately led to Spaz being removed from the premises over fear of his health and safety… and myself… which ultimately led to the horrible disfigurement that I now sport on both arms. Coincidentally, both happenstances occurred with the same accessories that the Destruct-O-Matic 5000 conveniently came with at no extra charge, namely the “Fighting Claws of Fury” and the “Jaws of Death.” I must have a word with the manufacturers. But never one to leave poor kitties out in the cold, I volunteered to be the last resort should no other suitable arrangements be found.

And now the time has come my friends, the “Last Resort” is officially open for business. After a bit of re-modelling, it is due to open its doors at the beginning of August and like any good business, the success of the new enterprise depends on many factors. Chief among them being that the owner will be tied to said business for the duration of its operation. Already down the drain is my one shot at heading out of the city for a lovely weekend of camping with like-minded individuals… Come to think of it, should any of those like-minded individuals need to book a room at the Last Resort, they had best hurry as space is running out. Of course, the high occupancy rate means that room rates are at a premium and I would insist on payment… Most likely in the form of a lots and lots of booze, a hefty supply of earplugs and possibly a reservation at one of Toronto’s excellent psychiatric facilities.

1 comment:

mollyblogger said...

I can't believe you can't come camping. That sucks so majorly.