Catman

Just as I was on the verge of relieving myself in a human-size litter box -- the sandtrap on the 10th hole at Westridge Golf Course -- I realized I needed help.

The reasons I needed help:

-I meow in my sleep

-I hate dogs

-I like to rub against peoples legs (girl's legs)

-My basketball nickname is the Catman

-I shed (stupid baldness)

-I live the nightlife

-I'm curious

-I like to sleep a lot

-When I fall, I land on my feet

-I enjoy sneaking about

-Sometimes I wish I had a tail


In short, I possessed cat-like characteristics. More than any man should ever have. I needed help. So whenever I need help I go to my psychiatrist, Nathan Ballard.

Me: Good day Doc.
Him: Good day Mr. Hansen. I hear that you think you're a cat.
Me: well, not exactl-
Him (Interrupting): You know being a cat isn't all it's cracked up to be, don't you?
Me: well its-
Him(Interrupting): For example, cats do not receive the designation of man's best friend.
Me: That's debatab-
Him(Interrupting): And cats have to clean themselves with their tongues.
Me: There are worse-
Him(Interrupting): Not to mention the only action a cat can get is a good petting.
Me: Pun.
Him: Not funny.
Me: (Silent)
Him: Plus, cats get neutered.

The convincing was done.The psychiatrist came through once again. I am not a cat. I know I am not a cat. And I'm fine with it. I'll be anything if it means I don't have to be a dog.

Now at this point, you might be asking yourself why in the world you wasted two minutes reading what appears to be a pointless blog. Don't fret, it has a point, and it is this: If you ever find yourself on the Westridge Golf Course and you hit your ball into the sand trap on the 10th hole, fear not.

I did not use it as a litter box.