The cops have my street surrounded. I can hear the helicopters hovering above my home. I knew I was in trouble when I started, but I did not know this would be so addicting. The kids on the street call this “SOMC,” it’s pronounced like ‘sonic,’ but with an ‘m.’
“The SOMiC boom,” that’s what they say. “Hey man, did you see it? Do you feel it? That’s the boom. That’s the SOMiC boom. Feel’s good, right? You feel like a Superstar, yeah? It’s like one minute you’re sitting in your home covered in cat hair a virtual nobody, and then BOOM, that’s the SOMiC kicking in. You wonder who else is seeing it. Refresh. Refresh. Refreshing.”
They’re trying to contact me. I can hear the chatter of the coppers, but I don’t want to step away from the SOMiC. It’s too good. It’s way too feline-fricken’ amazing.
“Put down the camera,” one pig snorts through his megaphone, “and step away from the cats.”
“I can’t do it,” I yell as I precariously try to balance a banjo on my cat, Mr. Evans. Think about it….A banjo playing cat! It’s pure genius. This could be the iconic moment in history that does to banjo playing cats what velvet paintings and cards did for dogs.
Pigs. They’re just a bunch of fucking pigs.
It started by placing a tape measure on Mr. Evans. I was measuring my wall and when I set down the tape measurer, Mr. Evans was right there, he was asleep and didn’t seem to mind, so I grabbed my camera and took a picture. I remembered a website I’d heard about called “stuffonmycat.com.” It was simple enough, I sent in the photo with Mr. Evans and a few days later stuffonmycat.com posted the photo.
Then the comments from other cat lovers started to appear beneath Mr. Evans. My cat was an Internet superstar. BEWnHeathensMom said, “Love the nose, the pose, the girth.” And koffeekat remarked, “Oh, Mr. Evans is a big boy!”
Refresh. Refresh. Refreshing. Each new comment left at SOMC filled the heart of my nine-lives-crazy-cat-loving self. And then, the comments ended. Koffeekat moved on to comment on other cats with stuff on their bodies.
Deflated and depressed, I started chasing my cats around the house putting car keys on their bodies and tube socks around their heads. Each photo was declined by SOMC, apparently they have kitty criteria, and I no longer had what it took to place objects on my cat.
The first one is free; The next one is costly.
Then, what a great day! The Supreme Court just ruled, by an 8 to 1 margin, that it is constitutionally permissible to post videos of cats getting crushed. This ruling more than doubled the amount of items I could put on my cat: a car? a fridge? a Chinese school girl wearing stilettos?
At the moment when I was trying to balance a Sotomayor-Supreme-Court approved loaded shotgun with a hair trigger on top of Mr. Evans’ head, I received notice from SOMC—they accepted a photo with my other cat Pistol.
Pistol will be as famous as Mr. Evans!
As soon as I received notice from SOMC, I Twittered and tweeted and posted stories on Facebook. I resurrected my MySpace account and returned to AOL after years of being AWOL. Most likely it was the blog that did me in. This alerted my friends who then alerted the authorities who are now flying over my home.
My cats, my cats, my kingdom for my cats. Please, just one more photo. I know I can balance an HP Printer and a 50lb dumbbell on Mr. Evans. By law and by god at least let me set this banjo on fire.