Without A Trial, We All Determined Our Cat Was Guilty

Or was it innocent? I can’t remember, because the news is so distracting and disturbing

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Mr. Whiskery before he was appointed fat cat in chief, Christyl Rivers

As is the current fashion, our cat, with a mouthful of feathers, was judged to be guilty when some other feathers and goopy stuff appeared on the living room floor last Friday.

“Oh my god,” said Susan, “I think that Mr. Whiskery has killed a cardinal. Look, red feathers!”

“Geez,” Mike chimed in, “He must have dragged the bird, who was female, weaker, smaller, probably inebriated and just a teenager. But maybe she was probably drunk and asking for it.”

“Maybe they’re both at fault,” I offered. “I mean they were both teens and it was years ago in cat years.”

“Hold up,” Susan noted, “We really don’t have any proof that it was Mr. Whiskery. Look at that face. He is as sober as a judge, cuddly as a teddy bear, and no doubt is also a virgin. Also, Mr. Whiskery graduated from the finest clinic in town, with a clean record.”

“I don’t think that passing his blood test, glucose, FIV and FELV tests count as a perfect record.” Mike replied. “Also, the only way through to the living room was through the pet door, and the security camera does show the cat coming through the pet door with a live bird in his mouth.”

“But that bird was clearly alive,” Protested Susan. “and the death happened off camera. Perhaps it was random, rogue killers with keys to our apartment.”

“Yes,” Mike had to concur. “But what about how Mr. Whiskery is dragging a little bone saw through the pet door in the next frame? That could look suspicious for him.”

“But I don’t think Mr. Whiskery is capable of murder.” I said. “ I don’t think he is strong enough to carry even that toy bone saw. Or maybe he did, but it was so long ago!”

We all weighed in, deciding that this was an almost serious crime, so one at a time we confronted Mr. Whiskery — not in a trial, but in a very, very non-absurd job interview — followed by serious pandering to our supporters. Finally, we did more research by reading all tweets that did not come from the dead bird and looking for hints or loose ends that even a cat could grasp at, as a common thread.

Toward the end of the sessions, Mike had the idea that there may be clues by sifting through all the old litter box droppings. A sort of Fumbling Bureau of Investigation kind of job. We looked at all kinds of shit. But there were just too many kinds that bore witness, so we opted to just examine one particular turd.

Then afterwards, we reluctantly had to let Mr. Whiskery off the hook.

Mr. Whiskery, who objected very vehemently that he would not be held against his will, and that the entire episode looked like a conspiracy to drag him to the vet, or give him a bath, or move the laundry basket out of the sunny spot, protested his innocence with loud howling.

Susan insisted to the bitter end that a cat should not have to have “his whole life ruined,” because of unproven allegations. Mike said he wished he could better understand teen animal behavior and dicey, economic/political international alliances between entities. That was a weird thing to bring up. For myself, I maintained that in most cases we should ruin lives, such as those of Kathy Griffin and Roseanne Barr, because, females of course should know their place, and not be allowed free speech. But if the life being ruined is someone about to have influence on every life on the planet, possibly, we should provide the benefit of the doubt, especially if he is an angry and privileged male who went to a very acclaimed school, or boarding kennel of some kind.

“I agree,” said Mike. “These are very scary times for young, male tomcats.”

With this stressful episode behind us, we all went back to Netflix. We agreed that nothing helpful is going to come of this whole, useless event. But it was sad for the bird, who continues to get death threats even across the rainbow bridge. As for Mr. Whiskery, he is taking a long nap on his pedestal, sleeping like an innocent baby.

Ecopsychologist, Writer, Farmer, Defender of reality, and Cat Castle Custodian.

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