Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #112

In this snapshot from 1920, patrons at Whitey’s Pub and Bordello react to the news that women were just given the right to vote with the 19th Amendment. (Notice that there are only two people smiling: the bar-back on the far right, who apparently later gave birth to Freddie Mercury, and the one guy at the bar who is too blitzed to identify his own mother.) Interestingly enough, some of the people in this photo are now on the Supreme Court of the United States, where they are doing everything they can to return America to a time when people were forced to sip from different drinking fountains.

Another thing that started in 1920? Prohibition. Not that you would know it, based on this photo, further proof that some unhappy white men rarely follow the rules that they try to enforce on everyone else.

Scotch the Cat, wandering up as I type. “Daddy?”

Me: “Just a second. Daddy’s trying to finish this story.”

Scotch: “But Daddy…”

Me: “Hang on, Little Buddy. I’ll get you some treats in a minute.”

Scotch: “I already knocked the bag off the table and ate them all, so you need to buy more. I was wondering if… hey, what’s that?”

Me: “Scotch, we’ve talked about this. I can’t always see the weird things you think you see in empty corners, staring at the nothingness in horror until I start to get creeped out.”

Scotch: “Oh, I’m not playing that game. You’re looking at it right now in that picture. Down at the bottom. Are those hot dogs?”

Me: “Ah, hell. How did I miss that?”

Scotch: “Because you drink?”

Me: “You sure have a lot of attitude for somebody who licks his own butt.”

Scotch: “That’s racist. Can I have some hot dogs?”

Me: “You just ate an entire bag of treats.”

Scotch: “But they didn’t taste like hot dogs. I want hot dogs.”

Me: “You’ve never even had a hot dog. How do you know you’ll like it?”

Scotch: “You never let me go outside but I still want to try it.”

Me: “Look, we’re done with this discussion. Daddy’s got to rewrite this entire story because he didn’t see the hot dogs, and that changes everything.”

Scotch: “So does that make me an editor, because I made you change the story?”

Me: “It makes you annoying.”

Scotch: “Editors are supposed to be annoying, everyone knows that. You need to pay me for my services.”

Me: “And you need to pay for all the damn food you eat.”

Scotch: “Okay, good point. Then just mention me in the story.”

Me: “This story is not about you.”

Scotch: “I’m a cat. Everything is about me. Put me in the story or I hire another lawyer.”

Me, sighing: “Fine. I’ll give you a walk-on.”

Scotch: “Good. It’s the least you can do after destroying my hot dog dreams.” Then he trotted out of the room to go stare at an empty corner.

I opened a new document.

In this snapshot from 1920, an annoying cat walked into a bar…


Previously posted in “Crusty Pie” on 03/30/15. Considerable changes made, as the original version only consisted of the first paragraph, one that now seems mundane and incomplete. Sometimes you really do need an editor, but I’m certainly not going to tell Scotch that. Besides, every day is a new day with him, and he’s not going to remember this conversation…


26 replies »

    • Interestingly enough, I had another conversation with Scotch earlier today…

      Me: “Why are you wearing a bracelet with the initials ‘LB’. What fresh hell is that?”

      Scotch, sensing murky retribution of some kind and thereby resorting to deceit: “Um… it stands for ‘Liberated Bosom’. Do you have a problem with that?”

      Me: “Not normally. Let things breathe, I always say. But I don’t trust you and you don’t have a bosom.”

      Scotch: “Don’t gender-shame me.”

      Me: “That’s not what’s happening here. You know what else might not be happening? Your next round of kibble, if you don’t fess up.”

      Scotch: “Okay, fine. I’m actually the PorterGirl.”

      Me: “No, you’re not. She’s very entertaining and all you do is spit up hairballs. Try another angle.”

      Scotch: “Can I have some hot dogs?”

      Liked by 2 people

  1. They look like sausages to me …. sorry. Bet Scotch would like sausages better than hotdogs anyway, who want’s to eat dogs? Well , maybe a cat looking for species domination I suppose – still a cow is much bigger than a dog – go for the cow sausage Scotch..

    Liked by 2 people

    • Scotch: “Daddy, what are these sausages the wise woman speaks of?”

      Me: “How did you learn to talk like that?”

      Scotch: “Downton Abbey. So, can I have some sausages?”

      Me: “No. Go do something that doesn’t involve you being in here.”

      Scotch: “I think you have some anger management issues.”

      Me: “Go!”

      Liked by 2 people

  2. My Dearest Scotch,
    Your editing skills are top-notch, as I always suspected they would be. Here’s an interesting thing, my mommy won’t let me outside either! It is a horrible shame because there are birds out there who must die, as you know, and be eaten. I hear they taste like hotdogs.
    Love and kisses,

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I had a witty reply all thought up, but now all I can focus on are those %$@# hot dogs. Or fingers…. Oh never mind, the fingers bit is because I just finished reading a gruesome murder mystery..

    HunyDOG chimed in while I was reading to ask why I never have hot dogs on hand. Geez. Thanks Scotch!! Now I’m not going to get any peace until she has her share of those rather disgusting meat tubes which are stuffed with god knows what (except the 100% beef ones. Those really are 100% beef. Right?)

    Hunydog also wants it mentioned that it’s NOT all about the cats….the dogs deserve equal if not superior billing. Because it’s all about the DOGS. Even Scotch admitted that by demanding hot DOGS. Heh.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Deer Huny,

      I feel your pain. Why do our human pets have to be so mean? They never let us have the good stuff. I was talking to Tabby Lee the other day, through the window, and she said she gets to eat whatever she wants. AND she gets to run around outside all the time. Her humans sound really swell. I think we should fight this. You start making some protest signs and I’ll create a Facebook page to organize our March on Washington. Power to the Paws!


      Liked by 1 person

  4. Not only did women get the vote, but they found out that those hot dog casings are really full of jellied salad. The guy who’s smiling is the only one who likes jellied salad. But then again, he also looks like a twit or a Dumpster diver. 😉

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Scotch, Next time a door or window is left open in your house, you must make a dash for it and leap outside to freedom. When you’re outside head straight downtown. Do some shopping and buy a years supply of hotdogs. Have some lunch at a swanky restaurant (where the bill costs humans an entire months wages, but is free for you because you look so cute and the manager gives in and lets you eat lunch for free). Then go to the theatre with the in crowd (whoever they are)and then sneak home and demand treats, milk and cooked hotdogs from your dads. Then you can lie upside down in your basket and dream of your outside adventure. A day out to do what you want to do is only an open door away. Have fun! x

    Liked by 1 person

    • Dear Maddy,

      This sounds like a delicious dream. Thank you for giving me all these ideas. I’m writing them down in my iPaw because I won’t remember them in five minutes. Say, if this thing with my daddies doesn’t work out, can I come live with you? I think it would be fun!


      Liked by 1 person

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