Dear Never-To-Exist Children Of My Cat,
This week, our family cat, Pom Pom, underwent a surgical procedure to make sure you never arrive and I feel like I owe you two things.
First, an apology. It’s nothing against you – who doesn’t love kittens?! – but Bob Barker has been adamant that we get our pets spayed or neutered, and nobody wants to cross that guy after the five-knuckle buffet he fed Adam Sandler in “Happy Gilmore.”
Secondly, I wanted to take a moment and tell you about Pom Pom and the kind of father he would’ve been to you.
It’s a shame you won’t get to know him because your would-be father has a wide variety of interests, from aviation (see: knocking crap off high shelves), travel (see: attempting to weasel out the front door every time it opens) and local cuisine (see: attempting to eat elastic bands like an idiot).
As far as being a provider, if what he hunts and kills each day is any indication, your father would have kept you alive on a steady diet of tinfoil balls, loose threads and every ounce of my human patience.
He’d have been the cool dad who would’ve stayed up all night to party with you, especially if your idea of a party is “shouting repeatedly at a closed bedroom door” or “closely monitoring the shadow of a bug that’s on the ceiling.”
That’s not to say your life would’ve been without challenges. Your name, for example, would’ve been picked by our seven-year-old daughter and, as Pom Pom suggests, she generally bases it on what she thinks you look like. You’d have spent your days roaming the house with a collar emblazoned with the words “Swiffer With Legs,” “Simba Except Not” or “Aunt Diane’s Scarf.”
Mind you, your entire existence is based on the debatable idea that Pom Pom would’ve been able to find a nice female kitty to settle down with. A tough sell when the guy’s idea of flirting is standing on your chest, turning around in circles 35 times and immediately leaving the room. While I can’t say I’ve tried it myself, my assumption is that girls HATE that.
I’m sorry things didn’t work out differently and that we didn’t get the chance to meet you, but it’s officially not an option. Our kitty Pom Pom has said so long to fatherhood.
Speaking of which, let’s move on to the apology I owe my wallet this week …
Ben McLean is a husband, a father, and won’t be adding any more pint-sized humans to the house either, thank you very much. He can be heard weekday mornings on 98.9 The Drive and reached at email@example.com.