Taz is one of our two cats. He is very friendly, outgoing and a bit high strung. His favorite spot is on my desk between the keyboard and computer screen. (He likes to keep close to us.) A few days ago, my wife noticed a large bump on his right hip so we took him to the vet. The vet thought it might be cancerous and said it should be removed. A few hours later he called to say he was fine and the mass was benign so we picked Taz up and brought him home. He had a large gash on his shaved hip where the wound had been stapled closed. He was wearing a plastic head collar which prevented him from chewing out his staples and he was groggy from the anesthetic. Anyone who has ever owned a cat knows that the animal has absolutely no idea what is going on, does not understand that this is being done for his/her own good, and is just sitting there looking at the owner with a “what the fuck are you doing to me” look on their face.
I had this dream last night. I had died and on my way to heaven, I had to take a detour for a “cat intervention”. This was where all the cats that I had owned in my life were there to confront me. Tortoise Shell, Dracula, Clod, Woosel, Dook, Fritz and last of all Taz all faced me with serious stares as the airing of grievances began. I gave them stupid names, I fed them cheap food, I did not allow them to eat garbage, I teased them too much, I stopped them from going out: it went on and on. Toward the end, I began to feel a bit down but then Taz who had not participated so far stepped up to me, licked my hand and said “thanks man”.