Our cat and occasional guest blogger, Scooter Thomas, has been on the receiving end of pointed criticism of late. He asked for the opportunity to respond.
Thank you, dear owners.
First, Scott Guldin let the cat out of the bag, as it were, with this slanderous bit of fabrication which painted me in a less-than-wholesome light. Then Matthew Leathers unleashed this polemic on his Mindless Comfort blog in a post that was demeaning not just to myself or my (occasionally) good owners but also felines everywhere. I’m sure Mr. Leathers loves Top Banana Galore dearly, and perhaps Banana has other virtues — tricks and whatnot — which do not necessarily translate onto the page. But Banana — and I don’t mean to put too fine a point on it — is a dithering idiot. He is clearly illiterate. That Mr. Leathers forced him to type twelve lines of inscrutable drivel before putting him out of his misery is unforgivable. Someone needs to rescue Banana from what are certainly squalid living conditions and nurse him back to good health so that he might one day reenter polite society as something other than a drooling, catatonic feline version of Sling Blade.
Now, let me address some of the specific accusations against me.
Scott Guldin claims (after resorting to crass name-calling that obscures any point he is attempting to make) that I
- slapped a glass of juice out of his son David’s hand;
- tripped him in a crude attempt to obtain a piece of delicious chicken;
- cursed like a sailor;
- and “wreaked havoc in the hearts of small children.”
Where to begin refuting these despicable charges? How about I simply start with the truth.
David Guldin, while a cute and curious little fellow, possesses the motor skills of a blindfolded moose. He is not fit to be drinking things without lids on them. It is as simple as that. Young David also seemed to derive quite a bit of pleasure by dumping his food (tirelessly grilled to perfection by my male owner) on the floor. My owners were polite to a fault, withholding criticism of such rudimentary social graces. This is not meant as an insult of young David — only, perhaps, a concerned inquiry into the efficacy of Mr. Guldin’s parenting abilities. But I will not trade tit for tat.
Mr. Guldin’s accusations against me, while fallacious, are no match for the sheer bluster of Mr. Leathers’s cynical tirade. He seems scarred by some deep inadequacy to care for Banana in his poor vegetative state. His Photoshop skills are primitive at best. (“Scooter Vanilli’s” paw is protruding from the vicinity of his right ear.) And his deep disdain for cat bloggers everywhere is not at all surprising, coming as it does from the poster child for the Condescending Media Elite. Mr. Leathers calls me a “fraud” and asserts, when evidence clearly contradicts him, that my owners are somehow guilty of faux journalism shenanigans. He has not witnessed firsthand my owners’ pathetic attempts to bathe and dress themselves, much less their loathsome eating habits or the effrontery with which they daily assault common standards of simple decency.
I regret that Mr. Leathers has diminished in stature following his recent antics. I was once a fan of Mindless Comfort and its gleeful skewering of 311 fans or the editorial practices of Spin magazine. Now it brings me nothing but deep shame when I dwell upon it.
So dwell upon it I will not. I asked my owners what proof we could offer that would buttress the authenticity of my posts against the universal standard of truth. We considered photographic evidence but realized that our critics would simply assert that we were nothing but Photoshop wizards (seeing as they are obviously well-versed in those dark arts).
It will have to come down to this: Mr. Leathers, I request that you should visit our house this coming Saturday — say around seven thirty — at which time we shall finally meet and look one another square in the eye. If you should look deep into my soul and see anything but what I have spilled out on these pages, well … then we shall go our separate ways clinging to our separate truths. But should you realize the falsity of your deeply hurtful accusations, then I trust you will set the record straight publicly, call off your Voreblog boycott, and cease this witch hunt. You have turned this good home into a modern day Salem.
In the meantime, might I challenge you, Mr. Leathers, to spend a little more time with Top Banana Galore and overcome your deep-seated kitty bigotry of low expectations? And also to be the first to share your worst concert experience in the third Voreblog Readers Forum here? Surely you have a story to tell.