When you sit down, I lie down on the floor near you. When you get up to leave, I rise to follow you from room to room. My favorite room is the kitchen. If you stayed in the kitchen all day long it would be fine with me. Even when you’re not cooking I can smell the scent from the previous night’s meal, and the one before that and before that, going back to my favorite—meatloaf.
You know those aging cowboy actors doing television ads praising beef? Saying there’s nothing like a US prime cut of beef, or something like that? Well, I don’t disagree with them, but boy, could I growl some praise about meatloaf. What a perfect food, seasoned with spices, then cooked to bring out the flavor. No annoying bones to chew around and slow you down, or boring vegetables to pick out. Just beef. And ground up like it’s been already chewed for you so all that’s left to do is swallow. It’s immediate gratification taken to its ultimate extreme.
When it comes to food, two-leggers have phenomenal talent. They can even make cardboard taste good, and boy have I had some tasty cardboard. It must be what’s in the glue that holds it together. Rat droppings or something like that. I would never think to eat something that came out the back end of a rodent, I’d just eat the rat, but a two-legger can turn the disgusting into the key ingredient of a masterpiece.
If I were in charge of the world, I’d gather up all these two-legger food geniuses and breed them until there were a whole lot of them and then put them to work making everything taste good. Soon, just breathing air would be like eating meatloaf. We wouldn’t even have to swallow, just inhale.
It couldn’t come soon enough, because with the way the loud two-leggers on television tell it, in a short there will be so many billions of mouths to feed they will need all the food they can get. If you two-leggers don’t start working on my flavored air idea, I’ve a sneaking feeling those two-legger food magicians will be fixing up yours truly with garnishes and spices and serving us up as the new meatloaf.
But I’m not in charge. A bunch of loud two-leggers on television are, and what motivates them has always been a mystery to me. With the way they’re busy killing one another it would make more sense if they were cannibals; at least that way there might be some sense behind the slaughter. Of course there’d be the threat of mad two-legger disease like what happened to the cows when two-leggers fed cows to cows, but I doubt that would inhibit them. Very little does.
They’re mad already. They’d just have to do to themselves what they’ve been doing to us since we began walking the same path. Getting old? Having trouble walking? Can’t hold your water all night? Well, we’ve got a shot to put you down. I’ve even heard the loud two-leggers on television talk about it. Those weird smelling Europeans have been putting it into practice with their own people and that’s got the Americans all bent out of shape. You’ve got to appreciate the irony of such a killing machine complaining about a few aged Europeans asking to be put down. Maybe they’re worried about where all this will lead.
I tell you, strawberry cardboard and flavored air are better routes to take, but I don’t have any say in it. I simply lie down when you sit. I get up and follow you when you leave. I get excited when we go into the kitchen, especially around mealtimes, and disappointed when we leave. Everything in my life, including my life itself, is in your hands, and if I think on that too long, the hole I’ve dug under the back fence starts to call to me. It’s a good thing there’s meatloaf, even if it’s made from mad cows, or I’d probably answer that call.