China Killing Cats Like It Was Going Out of Style

ith the second confirmed case of SARS reported in the Guangdong province last week, the Chinese government has stepped up its campaign to wipe out all animals with the potential for carrying the virus, including the “four dangers�: cats, little yappy dogs, loud tropical birds and those goldfish with the gross big eyes. Despite accusations that this is just the Chinese government’s excuse to get rid of millions of annoying pets, officials insist the mass slaughter is necessary to ensure the public health.

The central focus of the crackdown has been cats, a delicacy in China and finer trailer parks around the United States and personal pet peeve of Chinese President Hu Jintao. Cats were targeted after rumors surfaced that China’s first SARS case of the season, a 32-year-old television producer from Guangzhou, may have contracted the virus after eating SARS-tainted cat meat. Though the producer later revealed that he had never eaten cats and must have contracted the virus elsewhere, Chinese officials insist that he probably accidentally ate a cat some time without knowing it, which can happen to anybody.

World Health Organization officials met with the Chinese president last week in hopes of stemming the slaughter, but such hopes were dashed when the meetings devolved into a hilarious Abbott and Costello routine of “Hu’s on first?� with the Chinese leader. While concerns remain that the Chinese slaughter of cats may destroy valuable evidence, if not aid in spreading the virus further to workers hit by cat shrapnel, progress is unlikely since WHO officials have been unable to breach the subject without inspiraing hilarious riffing about a second baseman named Noh Ba Di.

Early attempts at eradicating the cats through drowning, punching, and firing squad failed after Chinese workers grew bored with these pedestrian means of cat-killing. Later attempts at scaring all the cats in China to death with a special gigantic vacuum cleaner proved unsuccessful, though hilarious, and by the end of the week more creative and entertaining methods of cat eradication were being sought. On Thursday, over ten thousand cats were shot out of an air cannon at a large brick wall painted to look like a big dog.

By the weekend, the feline holocaust was proceeding on several fronts simultaneously, with a veritable midway of cat-killing attractions thrilling Chinese spectators all through the day and night. Popular attractions included the “Kick a Cat Off the Cliff� booth, the “Give a Cat the Gift of Flight� strength-testing event, the children’s favorite “Cat in a Hat Full of Cyanide� and a humorously themed Catapult. While successful, officials had to put an end to the gasoline-soaked cat-on-fire races due to problems arising from rampant gambling on the event.

Everyone got into the spirit by week’s end, with Guangzhou newspapers running front-page pictures of a smiling Mayor Zhang Guangning smashing a kitten with a giant wooden mallet. The Guangzhou airport was shut down briefly on Saturday was thousands of cats were scooped into running jet engines in a desperate attempt to meet the weekend deadline.

On Thursday, China’s second recent SARS case was declared after a 20-year-old waitress was isolated in a Guangzhou hospital. Though it is not clear whether the woman worked in a restaurant that served wild game, Chinese officials consider that detail to be inconsequential since she could have contracted the virus while camping, driving near nature, or watching the SARS-infected Disney animated film, Bambi.

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"I've been looking for love in all the wrong places, but I've learned a lot about Dragonball Z in the process."

Are you hungry? I'm hungry. But I don't feel bad about it anymore. It happens to everybody. If someone tries to make you feel bad for being hungry, just tell them, it's normal for your average human being to get hungry 50 to 65 times a day. Depending on how much you work out.

But it's okay to get hungry, because there's lots of different foods out there to eat. Apples. Rack of lamb. Ketchup packets—if you're in a rush or not as hungry as usual. Some people even eat other people if they get hungry enough, but let me tell you it better be really hard circumstances, like you're stuck in a lifeboat together and one of you is dying. Or you have their permission.

If you don't want to jump right to eating people, try delivery food. It's great. Even the crummiest shitholes, like Boswell, Oklahoma, have delivery food these days. You can get pizza delivered right to your door, or your window, if you throw a few extra dollars in it for the guy. Other places have delivery now, too—sub sandwiches, chicken wings, salads, pizzas, bread of questionable mental stability, Mexican food. Chinese food, they even have Chinese food delivery, and believe me, that's a long trip.

I say the delivery thing hasn't gone far enough, or has yet too far to go, however the phrasing should be. In some places you can get groceries, cold food, delivered to your house. You can get mail even—crazy world. People will deliver cars to your house, some companies. There are even some thieves who will come right to your house—no more need to go out.

I would like to see a day where everything is delivered right to you. Bring the mountain to Mohammad, the Arab Bible says, and I agree. Doctors should call on you right at your house—can you imagine the day?

That's only the beginning, or the middle since the beginning is all the stuff we already have. All kinds of crazy services will be the way of the future. You can get flu shots or tax forms or someone can come out to your house and appraise how much it's worth—all without having to leave, or cart your house in on the back of a flatbed to the bank. Already the internet has made it where you don't have to leave your house to start receiving threatening messages or to be hounded by people with weird fetishes. Which reminds me, I've got some stuff I've got to do when I get finished with this.

Clowns? You like clowns? Shitloads of clowns will pile out of a special truck and they'll be doing cartwheels and all sorts of whacky crap right on your lawn. You'll be up to your ass in clowns until you're sick of them. Then you call the gun shop and have them bring over a double-barrel to chase off the goddamn clowns. 'Cause you can only stand so much, you know, before you go apeshit.

No more looking for love, either. I dream of the day, eventually, when love comes right to your door. Some charming lady dressed just the way you want will come right to your door. You get all the love you want, give her some money, then she goes away and you can watch TV. Not today. But someday.

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I have to admit, a few years ago the sound of a bustle in my hedgerow would have left me terrified. I was naïve, to say the least, and suffer a fear of mortality like anybody else. At least that's what my new houseguest said, and that's when I became aware what there was to fear, whilst before I suspected the sound might be a bear or some kind of Jack the Ripper fan intent on re-creating the crimes in vivid detail, only with men this time instead of trollops.

Likewise when I heard the whistle of the pied piper calling through the crack'd window in my den, at the time I kept running to the kitchen to see who left tea boiling on the stove top. This was before my new friend Jimmy Page came to stay with us.

Page is an insightful limey, you have to give him that. Before he showed up to stay with us I was scared of silly things, like the possibilities of violent crime, chemical terrorism, nuclear annihilation, all of these highly unlikely possibilities. Jimmy opened my eyes to the existence of dragons, mythical knights, multi-headed beasts from fables, and dark wizards who can destroy you with a handful of powder. And I've seen the powder that he travels with so I know he's not kidding.

Laughing trees, talking spirits, and some big pushy bitch he calls "the May Queen"--Mr. Page inhabits a very scarey world, folks, and he's welcomed me into it. Hence I've decided that, as enjoyable as his company is, I have to find a way to kick him out. I simply cannot continue going to work each day like the world is a normal place when I know there's half-goat demons out there who dance before me in the street on my way to work. And I can't hit them with the Volkswagen, either, they can float and dance on my hood with their cloven hooves. There's several of them in those commune offices I work at, too. I've never noticed before now that Ted Ted fellow is even smaller than me. Makes you wonder. Wonder? I meant terrified.

I'm not sure the exact length of time Jimmy Page is planning on staying. I wouldn't feel right asking him to leave, I'm all too aware of that magic dust in his suitcase. I've asked him how long he'll be around and he assures me he is bound for an otherworld, though I'm not sure where that is or I'd buy him a ticket already. He's mentioned something about a stairway of some kind, I'm unclear as to how tall it needs to be or where he wants it built, but I figure if I buy a tall enough stepladder it might make do in a pinch.

In the end, I'll probably get rid of him the same way I got rid of Donovan during his long stay in the late '60s: I'll move to the roof for a few days. We have a spare bedroom up there, hidden away from those unfamiliar with the house, and in times of houseguests myself, Arvelyn, and our cat Makeshift can squeeze in there comfortably for a long space of time, until our houseguest goes out for food or something and we change the locks. We've thus far managed to outlast every houseguest, although I must admit there were a number of doubtful moments where we worried that guy from The Commish was going to win in the end.

Not that there won't be a down side to Mr. Page's exit; the next time there is a bustle in my hedgerow, I'll undoubtedly be alarmed then. I'll soon forget about the pied pipers and May Queens. Though I've always known all that glitters isn't gold. Most of the time it's just glitter. Glitter glitters, you know.

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