My cat will never go bald. That’s a good bet and he knows it. I’m certain he knows it. I can tell by the way he watches me suffer the bathroom mirror in the morning. I see him grinning. It’s ugly. He gets his thin, lousy little lips up under his whiskers; he takes them ear to ear, fangs sticking out. You’ve seen it.
But he’s smart; he won’t let on more than the grin. That’s a cat - smug. He sits in the corner of the bathroom, grinning, while I check the recession taking place up on my head. What am I suppose to do about this kind of behavior? Moral insubordination! I’ll tell you what; I back up on him, step on his tail a little, catch the paws underfoot - just a scrunch, no harm intended - just a reminder about who’s taller around here.
My bird is in on it too, feathers top to bottom. Feathers and cat hair all over the place, they know what they’re doing.
And Max the dog will go bald the day he learns how to tango and smoke cigars. They’re all in it together. Ham and Cheese, the lizards. What about them? Two princes. I’ve had them since I was twelve - good luck there! No hair there to lose in the first place, just more smug animals. And what about the fish? They giggle air balls all night long over my hairline. I hear them.
It’s some zoo over here. But what do they know about pain, suffering and hair loss? I sit here and wonder.
They’re looking at me now, all of them. They know what I’m thinking. Shave the cat and dog just a bit, pluck a few feathers, glue a little hairline on the reptiles, flush the fish. Even the score a bit.
Am I alone in this jungle?