According to Einstein nationalism was the bane of humankind - humankind’s measles, he called it. Others would say that claim was só 20th century. They insist climate change is the worst threat that humanity will face in the coming decades.
In fact, there are those who are sure it already affects other planets as well. (And then there are those who see any newfangled bit of nonsense news as an excuse to get seriously nostalgic.)
However, all those good folks who do think nationalism is as bad for our health as, let’s say, sunbathing, or that climate change will do to us in the 21st century what rats brought us in the 14th century, haven’t met my cat.
My cat is more evil than Vegan parents, and far more annoying than the combined top ten of most annoying pop lyrics. Believe me, you’d rather hear someone in the street scream ‘The fridgemen are coming!!!’ than you’d have my cat enter your living room.
Right now I was staring at the little brute in utter disbelief. It had just told me how it had managed to arrive at my Prague apartment before my plane from Holland had brought me there.
“So you’re saying…?”
“Yup.”
“And they really believe…?”
“‘Fraid so” the cat said, smug as only the biggest smug- or smeghead can be.
“Unfuckingbelievable.”
“Great story, yes?”
I shook my head. That was one way of describing it, yes. Like old Popsicle Oates saying to his friends that he’d just go outside for a bit.
“So, those idiots returned.” I said.
“Yup, yup.” said the cat.
I shook my head again.
Remember that car park I mentioned some time ago - where my cat had seen fit to have its own first contact celebrations by way of eating the leader of a rather small alien delegation from some faraway planet that had just landed their UFO outside my local supermarket?
Well, they’d managed a second coming.
“And they didn’t come back to do an Arnie…?”
“Nope.” said the cat.
“They came to surrender instead.”
“Yesss…!!!” the cat hissed triumphantly.
“Even worse, now those stupid, green wankers think you’re some kind of God.”
The cat did a truly irritating victory dance.
“And then they flew you to Prague, just because you told them to…”
More sur place fancy feline footwork followed.
I shook my head again - and then went for my coat.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the cat asked.
“I’m going to get seriously drunk.” I said and then left my cat-infested apartment, still shaking my head.
It was a very Victor (I don’t believe it!) Meldrew moment: numb-skull aliens now saying their pathetic prayers to my bloody cat - and playing celestial cabbie too.
Ah well, so much for the theory that there are other, maybe even more intelligent life-forms out there.
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