Cats in the Belfry

My tainted pussy is at it again. The expensive Bengal cat that lives in my home became a major headache for my sister and her family this past week.

Three days before Christmas, my real estate agent called. An anonymous Washington Redskin player who already owns a home or two in Atlanta wanted to see my house the very next day.

I had to set my pina colada down in the Waikiki sand to call my mother and ask her to make sure my house was presentable for my potential buyer. That meant, of course, removing the cat and her litter box from the premises for the better part of three hours.

Lauren and my mom drove the cat to my sister’s house and asked if they could lock her in an empty room of their basement. In return, they offered to take Holly to lunch.

When they returned, Lauren went to get her cat. Only the cat wasn’t there. After searching the room and calling for Bella, Lauren heard a sound coming from the ceiling. Two ceiling tiles were missing, and Lauren quickly realized that her cat had jumped from a dresser to the top of the armoire and gotten into the ceiling between the main floor of the house and the basement. There was nothing to do but wait for the cat to come down on her own.

By the time Bella finally emerged – eight hours later -- Holly’s husband was beside himself, certain that Bella had left some souvenirs in the ceiling.

But he couldn’t really raise too much of a fuss. Not when their own cat, Liza, lives between the walls.

Several months ago, he had to knock a hole in a basement wall in order to repair some plumbing issues. Liza the cat, who spends her days hiding from the four children and only comes out when they’re in school or in the bed, discovered that hiding place, and since then, no one has seen her during daylight hours.

Liza’s plight got me to wondering about something. I understand the Christian faith’s skepticism about reincarnation. But I also think that God is creative and has a huge sense of humor. Simply sending a serial killer or terrorist to hell is way too boring. Wouldn’t it be more fun to turn a radical Muslim into a pig the next time around? Or sentence Saddam Hussein to be a homeless cat who gets adopted by a family of four small children who “love” him so much that he’s happy to live between the walls? I can hear God saying, “You liked harassing innocent people, so we’re going to give you a taste of your own medicine. And this next time around, your 'palace' is going to slightly resemble the hole you crawled into when you were hiding from US troops.”

Osama Bin Laden could return as Lady Gaga.

Michael Vick could come back as a fighting gamecock, and if he’s a good boy from now until he dies, he gets to strut around the sidelines at South Carolina football games.

The dude who just tried to bomb a plane by setting his own crotch on fire? God’s probably saying, “No reincarnation. I’m gonna go ahead and give you those 72 virgins you think I promised and let you spend eternity wishing you hadn’t blown your own dick off.”

And since my tainted pussy is, apparently, the difference between selling a house or not, in her next life, she is going to be a real estate agent.