On Tuesday at about 4:30 pm, long-time, and much loved, Webdiarist, Claude [0], breathed his last in this world as a result of a lethal injection administered by his treating vet. Atypically, he went quietly. In a prescient piece of subterfuge, he managed to get out this message which washed up on the Editor’s desk today.
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| SEND NOT TO ASK It’s not to the point to talk about para – what’s that thing where humanes really are out to get you? I suppose I should be used to it by now as a 19 year-old diabetic cat. Felix domesticus they call us. Well, it’s my domesticus and I’ll relieve myself where I like thanks very much. Fat and Rude keeps talking about something he calls the green needle and he was talking to a bloke who knows a bloke who’s a taxidermist. Apparently they’re a dying breed as well. Never been in a taxi myself. I know they’re out to get me. Just because the old legs don’t work quite the way they used to, my tongue has developed a mind of its own and my tail’s gone dinosaur on me (controlled by a brain even smaller than the one in my head) doesn’t mean I’m ready for the scrap heap. I can still hold my own – take those tiles that tried to take me on the other day – shat all over them then pissed myself laughing. I’ve started collecting vegetable peelers. Lovely colours – pity cats are colourblind. Where was I? Ah yes. Mess. Can’t stand mess. I’ve been cleaning off all the detritus the humanes keep on those things they call their desks. You’d think they’d clean up. Mmmmm biscuits. And I can still get to the keyboard when they aren’t looking. Just in case though – you can’t be too careful with these humanes about - I Claude, cat extrordinaire, of this realm, give devise and bequeath my furball collection to the Macleay Museum within the University of Sydney, the institution which, these many years, has provided my veterinary services and a constant supply of insulin, students to claw, pass on cat scratch fever to and generally torment. It has been an approach I have always taken to birds. Funny, I’ve never seen a male vet student. If they get me and put me in that basket of no return, I’ll be back. I hedged my bets a few years ago when I got too slow to catch native wildlife and became a Buddhist. Next time, I’m going to come back as a cat. Mmmmm – fillet steak – wonder what they’re up to. Sleepy time. Oh no, there’s the cat basket – I told you they were out to get me. Donne like a dinner.
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