Kitty Coffin Capers
(June 3, 2007)

I don’t like to admit it but I never really did like my neighbour; Amanda Buttonbuttoms. Sure she was ancient with wrinkles that looked like canyons and didn’t believe in “hydro” or “buying clothes since 1973”, but she also had a mean-to-Suzy streak – that I simply could not endorse. Therefore, when I was told she died in a murder-suicide, I did not feel any sorrow… until I learned it was her kitty who she murdered before taking her own life.

Unlike his owner, Satchel the Kitty and I got along famously. I would always find him in the backyard, just chilling. Sometimes I would join him and we’d work on our tans. Whenever I would return Satchel to Ms. Buttonbuttoms, she would give me the evil eye – like I had stolen her kitty. Deep down I think Satchel preferred me better – and she knew it!

Initially I was going to skip the funeral but I knew I had to pay my respects to Satchel. Too distraught, I asked Ham to accompany me to the funeral parlour.

We arrived to see a line that reached around the block – all paying their last respects to Buttonbuttoms. “How could this be?”, I thought to myself, “She was pure evil.” As we waited in line, I began to feel guilty. Maybe Buttonbuttoms was a nice person, a genuine do-gooder. Maybe it was only me who despised her.

Once we entered the chapel my guilt evaporated.

At the front of the room were two open coffins; a large wide one and to its left, a little skinny one. Only the small coffin had a line of mourners – the other had no visitors. Buttonbuttoms was in the large one and Satchel was in the small one.

I couldn’t believe it. Everyone was there to visit only Satchel – just like me. I was not a horrible person. Everybody was surfing on the Suzy wave. I was cool.

“Yes!” I yelled as I pumped my first in the air.
Ham pulled my arm down.
“Keep it together Suzy.”

It was our turn to mourn so we slowly approached the coffin. There was little Satchel with his front legs neatly folded over his chest wearing a bow tie. He had a small smile and looked so peaceful. The undertaker did a fantastic job.

I looked over Buttonbuttoms who, despite dead, still looked evil; so evil that she would murder her kitty then commit suicide. I imagined my poor friend eating his cat food, never knowing that it contained poison. I began to sob… and yell.

“Poor Satchel! He never had a chance. What did Satchel do to deserve this? And now he is going to be buried next to his murderer! Well not on my watch!”

“Suzy, what are you doing?”
“I’m taking Satchel with me. I’m going to bury him far away from that woman!”

“Suzy put down the kitty coffin.”
“Never!!!”

“Ah, Suzy, ye be, put down the kitty coffin says me.”

I turned to my left to see Le Grand Orange!

Le Grand Orange was the captain of a crew of French Canadian voyageur pirates called the Gros Mustachos. In their heyday, this group of outlaws controlled the St. Lawrence River by canoe. Their portaging skills to escape authorities are legendary. However after September 11, the increase in coast guard homeland security made roaming the border river impossible so they migrated from their native Riverie Saint Lawrence to Lake Ontario – in particular Toronto.

I had thwarted the Gros Mustachos best-laid plans numerous times - from the Zoo-Whale-Oil-into-gasoline scheme to the Barbara-Hall-Mayoral-Campaign. In fact, so much so that le Grand Orange had publicly announced me as top banana of his “Liste de Tuer”.

He was also the star of a reality TV show - CBC’s “Greatest Pirate” reality show. His victory was secured when he and his crew portaged into downtown Montreal and pirated themselves onto the Groupeaction Board of Directors. But enough of Le Grand Orange’s background.

“Suzy, ye no be a kitty coffin pirate. So mate, drop the coffin. Satchel wouldn’t have wanted ye to steal him, n’est pas?”

For being my nemisis, he did have a point. Satchel the Kitty would never have wanted to see me commit a crime. Satchel was always such a good kitty and a good friend.

“You’re right Grand Orange. Satchel wouldn’t have wanted it that way.”
“Say, how do you know Satchel?”

“Ye no know the feline Satchel.”
“Then why are you at his funeral?”
“To snatch Satchel! My new voyage is to take the cats from Davy Jones locker to the local food establishments.”

“You mean you sell dead cats to restaurants?”
“Why mais oui. There is no wrong. The felines were only going to rot in the ground. Now they rot in your stomach!”

“There is plenty of wrong.”
“Arr, c’est the circle of life. Hakuna Matata. Scar from the Lion King taught me that.”
“But he was the bad lion!”

“Matter not ye be. As the preacher said today, ‘Dust to dust, ashes to ashes’. It’s all the same.”

“Who do you supply to?”
“Taco Bell pays a pretty treasure for dead kittys.”

I was horrified. My friend Satchel becoming a burrito! Not on my watch!

“What if I decide not to put down the coffin?”
“Matters not to me, says I.”

With this, he pulled a weapon from behind his back.
“What’s that?”
“A harpoon gun. Whale or kitty coffin – it’s all the same.”

Before I could move, Le Grand Orange fired the harpoon gun at the coffin which I held over my head.

Crack! - went the sound as the harpoon as it penetrated the wooden kitty coffin.

With a switch of a trigger, the harpoon returned to its owner. I tried to stop it but the force was too much for me. Before I knew it, Satchel and his kitty coffin flew from my hands to the hands of Le Grand Orange.

Within a flash, the French Canadien pirate left the funeral parlour. We tried to locate his getaway canoe in the parking lot but it was no use. There must have been an underground stream.

For the next week I visited every Taco Bell in the city but it was no use. They’d admit to not-using-hairnets. They’d admit to rats roaming wild in their restaurants but none would purchasing dead cats from a pirate.

Some of my misadventures end triumphantly, some sad – and others end with a pirate harpooning a kitty coffin. I wonder which type of misadventure this is?