Feline Existentialism

By Paul McGuire © 2008

"Did you say something, Emilio?" I said.

3am. Late night insomnia had struck. Maybe it was all the chemicals pumping through my bloodstream mixing with the high altitude. I was lightheaded since I'd landed in Denver and had been fighting waves of fatigue and fuckedupness for several days.

Nicky was asleep downstairs and the Joker was passed out in his bedroom. I sat in a dim kitchen, smoking nugs direct from Boulder, surfing for porn, and talking to Emilio Estevez the cat.

"Emilio? Did you say something?" I asked again. "I had my headphones on and could hear anything with Sly and the Family Stone blasting."

"You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of," said Emilio as he rubbed up against my leg and sat down underneath one of the kitchen chairs. "You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life."

"Did you make that up?" I asked as I bent down to look Emilio in the eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"You're quoting Sartre. Ripping off French existentialists?" I said as I busted Emilio.

"Fuck off, man. You think you are a know it all just because you read a couple hundred books. Well Mr. Smarty Pants, it wasn't Sartre. That quote was from Paul Camus."

"Camus. Sartre. Same fuckin' chain smoking zealot. Doesn't matter to me, but I'm curious why are you passing off someone else's work as your own?"

"Nothing is more despicable than respect based on fear," said Emilio as he slowly walked towards the back door and nudged it with its paw.

"More Camus quotes. You don't fuckin' stop do you? Do you run some sort of classes for alley cats? Nihilism and Ass Licking 101?"

"As a matter of fact. I do. And I'm late for class. So if you wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate it if you opened the door and let me outside."

"Nice try, Emilio. I'm not letting you out. The Joker told me to keep you out of the alley at night. That's when you get into trouble. How many of the slutty alley cats have you knocked up already? Five? Six? By the end of the summer, you'll be the father of 25 to 30 kittens. How the hell can you support them?"

"Looks who's getting self-righteous on me. It's easy to judge me living up in your ivory tower where there's black and white and right and wrong. You don't know what it's like on the streets, do you? Fuckin' yuppie scum. And besides, those cats knew what was coming to them. Fuckin' white trash cats. Yeah, I might have knocked up one or two. But who knows about the other ones. They were little sluts banging every cat on this side of the tracks. A few even blew a couple of dogs. And one was caught in a gang bang with a pack of squirrels. I know, because I was third in line. Some nasty shit goes on when you are supposed to be sleeping a dreamless sleep. This is the ghetto, yo. Either you sling rock or chug cock."

"Sure, blame society. Don't take responsibility for your own actions. What did Camus say? 'As if familiar paths traced in summer skies could lead as easily to prison as to the sleep of the innocent.'"

"Keep up the condescending shit talkin'. You're only one step away from nothingness. Your mere existence is utterly meaningless. What has more value? The zit on the ass cheek of Bono, or a religious missionary that has been burned alive by tribal elders? Think carefully. The answer might astonish you."

"It's a trick question. The answer is neither. Here's some Camus for you... 'What is a rebel? A man who says no!' You like that? You're not the only one who can pull obscure Camus quotes out of his ass."

"Thanks for reminding me. I needed to go in for a re-wipe," said Emilio who rolled onto his back, arched his head and began licking his private areas.

"Sweet Jesus, you're one crazy motherfucker."

"Hold on a second, bitch! Did your cracker ass just call me crazy? Who's the psychopath that has been carrying on a conversation with a cat for over an hour?"


Paul McGuire is a writer originally from New York City.