Living In a Dog Eat Dog World
By Jon Frangipane
It was Friday afternoon. I didn’t want to hear anything, see anybody, or think about anything… just some peace and quiet. As usual, my cat was waiting.
“I’m calling the animal shelter. I can’t take it anymore,” said Berkel, just as I stepped in the door.
“Well, thank you very much for that heart-felt greeting, but don’t you threaten me, Berkel. I just got home. I don’t need any of your lip. I’m tired, miserable, distressed, disturbed and in no mood,” I replied, knowing very well there was more lip to come.
“Listen, I’m either going to quickly see some radical changes around here, or I’ll show you the real meaning of the words miserable, distressed and disturbed.”
“Well, you listen to me, fuzzball… you haven’t spoken to me in weeks, and now, all of a sudden you’re telling me that you’re calling the animal shelter? Am I supposed to crawl under my bed and shake with fear?
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times that my lifestyle stinks in this dog eat dog world. You’re treating me like a…like an animal!”
“But you are an animal, Berkel. Go take a look in the mirror. You do your business in a litter box. You slink around on all fours. You’re completely covered in long, matted hair. You throw up hairballs. You’re an animal. Face it!” I told him.
Berkel was gearing up for a fight. I can tell when I see his upper lip quiver.
“Well, on the Discovery Channel this morning…”
“Well, I don’t want to hear any more of your crazy, wild fantasies about traveling around the world, eating Russian caviar, drinking French Pinot Noir and nibbling Godiva chocolate truffles. That stuff can kill you. You should thank me for watching over you and saving your life! And didn’t I specifically tell not to watch too much television?”
“You tell me specifically not do a lot of things. But you see, I’m quite fed up living like a Franciscan Monk in this hell hole we live in, and I won’t take it any more!”
“As an educated, well-adjusted and understanding order of homo sapiens, I will give you the opportunity to declare any improprieties I may have caused and ask you just what specifically is bugging you? Fleas, perhaps?”
Again, Berkel’s upper lip began to quiver. “As I was saying, before being rudely interrupted… on the Discovery Channel this morning, they showed these absolutely gorgeous backyard homes for cats and dogs with all the amenities afforded their humanoid counterparts. A two-bedroom would be all I’d require. And with a full kitchen, with central air, a bath, hot and cold running water and a den, of course. The construction company is called Private Palaces for Pampered and Privileged Pets and each home is custom made.”
“Berkel, you must think I’m either naive, or stupid to think that I would fall for such an idiotic scheme.”
“Actually, I think you are naïve and you are stupid, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked. And you better sit for a minute, I can see that vein in your forehead pulsating and sweat beginning to form on your brow.”
“Yes, Berkel, I’m going to sit down here, I’m not really feeling well. Why don’t you go take a nap, so I can collect my thought and we can talk later.”
“I’m not tired, buddy boy, and besides my insomnia is getting worse, so I’ll be slinking around on all fours most of the night, but I’ll try my best not to step on your face. Oh, by the way, I shot off an email to Private Palaces for Pampered and Privileged Pets and a man named Barney will be calling you tomorrow.”
“Berkel, just for curiosity sake, what would a two-bedroom run, in round figures, let’s say?”
“Two-bedroom with full kitchen, with central air, a bath, hot and cold running water and a den would run about $29,000.”
I woke up in the emergency room at Broward General. They said they received a 911 call from someone named Berkel. I must have been delirious because I kept telling the doctor I had to talk to Barney at Private Palaces for Pampered and Privileged Pets, or I was going to be in big trouble. The psychiatrist placed me under observation for 3 days and finally released me to the care of a private nurse.
I’ve been home now for 3 weeks and Berkel’s new home is just about finished. We’ll be picking out furniture this week.