So recently I’ve come to the conclusion that the brilliant novel-draft I’ve been sort of working on & saving for the past 5 years should be trashed.
Yep – screw that Marley-and-Me sentimental bullshit. Freeta – my fat, fuzzy, tortie-calico of 19+ years – deserves better than a theater-full of sobbing, Kleenex-toting humans.
I mean, every cat knows that Kleenex are for pulling every last one out of the box and shredding all over the living room! AmiRIGHT!!??
Freeta deserves a full-color, hard-cover graphic novel that comes with a stuffed, full-sized Gund-quality facsimile of her Grand Highness: Prime Minister of Primo-Nip, Tuna and… …Jet-Puffed Marshmallows (definitely a post for another day!).
Clearly I do realize that when & IF Hollywood comes calling (obviously this would be after the book wins me an Eisner, a Harvey or how ’bout a Pulitzer!) they will wave around wads of cash and my acceptance of any proposals for said sob-fest will be entirely of my own intuition and cravings for literary glory, but let’s wait for the “rain”, shall we? THEN we can talk about mayyybe giving it the Marley-n-Me treatment. (For the record, I did love what I saw of that flick but, for the LOVE OF BOB I have NO MORE TEARS LEFT!)
Freeta, you may be gone for going-on 2 whole long years BUT you are definitely NOT forgotten! 🙂