Yesterday, on Christmas, I spent an entire day on the train traveling back to my apartment. I purchased myself some holiday PBRs and got ready to have a full blown solo Christmas pity party. All of my intentions were focused on feeling totally sorry for myself because I was spending Christmas alone. However, George had other plans.
His plan?
Dying
This is exactly how he wanted to go, on Christmas: a day usually reserved for family, and happiness, and joy. Those are all of the things that he hates and stands against. Misery? Pain? Mournful tunes on the banjo? The last chapter of Oil? Ruining gift giving holidays? George knew that those were the real simple pleasures in life.
And, obviously, hating you. That was another of his favorite things.
Except, of course, there is more pleasure in dying. So, after a hundred and fifty thousand years of life George went to meet him maker.
I think we all know who George’s maker is
And I, for one, will miss the ever loving shit out of that miserable cranky cat bastard. And, while his cold dead body rests in the space heater box in my living room while I am at work (HE WOULD HAVE WANTED IT THAT WAY DON’T JUDGE ME), later on I will be memorializing him in the best way possible: playing The Ballad of Georgie on the ukulele and whiskey drankin’.
Bye, littlest evil.
Filed under Animals, apartment, beer, cats, Holidays, public transportation
Tagged as banjo, cats, christmas, cold dead body, darkness, dying, fifty thousand years, George, kitties, Oil, orange and white boys, pabst, pbr, pbrs, pity party, RIP, simple pleasures, tabby cats, ukulele, whiskey
You life is not so great 