humour // no. 22

 

 

Scared catless

> Man contemplates life without

beloved feline companion

Blake Rayment
Contributor

 

his September, I will be moving to

Wales. Apparently, from what I’ve
heard, moving to a different continent
presents a major shift in one’s life;
because of that, people keep asking
me what I’m most nervous about.

Well, it’s not that I'll be leaving
behind all my friends and family (unless
they’re the ones asking the question,
of course). Nor is it the fact that I’ll
be leaving the comfort of my dark,
perfectly-scented basement suite that
took me years to fill with the correct
levels of musk. I am slightly concerned
about the Welsh language and how it
utterly baffles me—did you know that
the Welsh word for “beer” is “cwrw?”
How do you pronounce “cwrw?” Kuh-
wer-wuh? Kwer-woo? It’s their official
second language. Nevertheless, as
moving day creeps closer and closer,
the one thing I find myself entirely
fixated on is that I will have to learn
how to survive without my sweet,
perfect baby-bean: Luna Ticklepuss.

Luna is my cat of six years. She is
perfect in every possible way: Calico—
mostly black with streaks of copper—
with little white booties; chubby, round,
and squishy like a stress-ball, but with a
head the size of a kitten; and a perfect,
flaming orange crescent moon that goes
over her right eye. She’s my everything.
Her and I have been inseparable since
she was eight weeks old—if I’m in the
house, she is never more than six feet
away from me. If I’m anxious, she’s there
to purr on my chest. Bored? Catnip,
and her pupils go as wide as a 19-year-
old’s at a rave. She’s been with me
through two heartbreaks, a full degree
completion, five jobs, the loss of a
grandfather, the birth of three nephews,
and everything in between. She’s my
best friend in the truest sense of the
word, and she won't be allowed in my
tiny Welsh dorm room. This has been
the cause of the ball of anxiety sitting
in my stomach like a giant, overripe
durian fruit. ] will be ripped in half. I
will be forced to survive without her.

So, what can I expect? Pure
loneliness, fear, boredom, stress, and an

overall feeling of unreserved emptiness.
This is an obvious inevitability, one
that I must come to terms with. I’ve
been forced to try and figure out a
game plan, one that will leave me as
emotionally prepared as possible.

Step one: Photos of my sweet
baby. My phone has already dedicated
50 per cent of its space to cat
photos, but what’s another 25-30
per cent? Apps are overrated.

Step two: Record my baby’s
purr. At least this way, when times
get especially tough, I'll be able to
plug in my earbuds and hear a sound
that, for me, is associated with pure
goodness. (Note to self: Name the
track “Luna’s purrfect mixtape.”)

Step three: An online nanny-cam
with two-way audio. This is perhaps the
most expensive step, but also the most
crucial. Positioned wisely, the camera
will allow me to see her for most hours
of the day—chubbiness withstanding,
this will be by the food bowl.

Step four: Tissues. I will be crying,
and I will be crying a lot. 'll be ina
foreign land without my most valuable
emotional crutch. It would be lunacy
to expect myself to also wallow in snot
and salty tears without some tissues
to aid me. (Note to self: Cut out the
word “lunacy” from vocabulary—the
pun will make me too emotional and
I can’t let the Welsh think I’m weak.)

Step five: Get a fish. Yes, a fish
will be far harder to cuddle with in
the dead of night, but not entirely
impossible given the right equipment.
A tube-shaped fish-enclosure with a
watertight seal and I’m laughing—
through the tears, of course.

Step six: Learn to live
without my heart and soul.

I’m scared, but I’m also not afraid
to admit it. Honestly? I don’t think
I will survive without Luna, but I'll
try—how else would I ever see her
again? And if it’s too hard without
her, pet-friendly apartments can't
be that expensive in Wales. The
country would be lucky to have her.

If worst comes to worst—or
should I say when worst comes to
worst—I can always turn to my other
crutch: A tall, frosty pint of cwrw.
Kuh-wer-wuh? Kwer-woo? Help.

 

theotherpress.ca

Photo by Courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures

Summer films
instant reviews

> For people who don’t have time for full analyses

Jerrison Oracion
Senior Columnist

 

he summer films this year have

been interesting. There were a
lot of “last films’ in series that have
turned out to... not quite be the last
film. Also, there have been films that
were surprisingly good, and other
films that were unsurprisingly not
good. Here are the Other Press’s
spoiler-free, one-sentence reviews of
this year’s summer films.

Guardians of the Galaxy: Vol. 2
As great as the first film.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead
Men Tell No Tales

A great way to end the film series
(please, let it be the end).

Cars 3

Avery feminist G-rated movie.

open until August 4th.

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Despicable Me 3

It has a lot of 1980s jokes in it.

Captain Underpants: The First
Epic Movie

It’s true to the original chapter books
and shows that the arts are important.

Spider-Man: Homecoming
The best Spider-Man film ever made.

War for the Planet of the Apes
Wished James Franco was back, but
surprisingly good.

Dunkirk

The best war movie this year.

Transformers: The Last Knight
It has beautiful IMAX scenes, but do
we really need another Transformers

film?

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