GRENDEL and ME (3/10)
Why My Taxes Haven’t Been Paid
I was talking to Grendel the other day, because there was a lull in my efforts to figure out my taxes. I made the mistake of telling him that his life was easy.
“All you have to do is go to your bowl and eat. You don’t even have to hunt.”
“Hunting is not work, Boss, it’s one of the great pleasures of felinity.” (Yes, that’s actually a word.) “Sort of like your scuba diving. A coral reef to you is like a pulchritudinous chipmunk to me.”
“Besides, you don’t hunt. Who fills your bowl?”
“I don’t eat out of a bowl.”
“Uh, Boss; I’m speaking metaphorically.” (Honestly, the cats of English teachers!)
“Oh, I get it; you mean where do I get my sustenance?”
“Got it, Boss.”
“Well, I just go to the bank at the end of the month and…”
“Your bowl is full, metaphorically of course?”
“I guess, if you put it that way.”
“And you don’t hunt any more?”
“You could say that.”
“So…who are you to tell me about my easy life?”
“Point taken...”
His eyes drooped shut and I knew this conversation was over. So here I am compared to a lazy cat with little argument to deny it. Except that I still have to do my taxes, and even that is not possible at the moment because of his highness’s choice of a bed. And he rolphed up his breakfast on my desk and I’ll have to do a second cleaning to get rid of the smell, and take out the trash, and go shopping, and make dinner and…I need a nap.
