A cat wanders into an empty kitchen and ambles toward a can of Friskies cat food. The lid suddenly pops off, sending magic glowing swirls all over the room. The cat watches them, mesmerized, because she's clearly stoned out of her mind.
Then a mysterious portal opens up. Right there in the kitchen. Because that makes sense.
The cat leaps through the portal, and finds herself in a brightly colored fantasy land. She meanders through this newfound wonderland, marvelling at her surroundings.
And even though it's only a 60-second commercial, this stoned cat manages to have a complete adventure, by land and by sea.
Her journey eventually comes full circle, and a new portal leads the cat home, where she scarfs down some brown mush in a bowl. I'm not sure what the commercial is getting at, unless they're implying that Friskies cat food is laced with PCP.
Seeing pet food commercials always makes me miss my cat Lola, this commercial in particular. As a kitten Lola slurped up some antifreeze and was never quite the same. She's dumb as a cinderblock, but I love her, and I always look forward to seeing her when I go home for the holidays.
Last time I was home, I brought her a little mouse toy full of catnip. I'd never given her catnip before because I was afraid it might exacerbate her brain damage and send her into a kitty coma, but I figured it probably couldn't hurt just this once. I pulled the toy out of my pocket and tossed it on the ground in front of her.
After that she picked up the mouse in her teeth, carried over to the couch, and rolled around for several minutes in a hazy delirium. Then she slid off the couch and laid there for another couple minutes before falling asleep for the rest of the morning.
"No more drugs for you, cat," I said, and put the mouse on top of the fridge.
Later that afternoon I let Lola outside for a bit. She usually doesn't go farther than the edge of the deck, so I figured she couldn't get into much trouble. I sat down to do some light reading, but before long I was interrupted by a commotion in the backyard.
There's a creek behind my house, and from time to time we get ducks crossing through. Usually the ducks aren't so noisy, so I could tell something was up. I peered through the blinds but couldn't see anything, so I got up and walked over to the sliding doors. I pulled them open, and there was Lola, dragging a dead duck across the deck. She had somehow managed to kill a whole duck. She looked up at me, proud as could be, blood and feathers scattered behind her.
"Oh my god, Lola," I said.
She only stared at me, as if to reply, "What, this old thing? You act like you've never killed a duck with your bare hands before. Pussy." Fat and dumb though she may be, I still find myself surprised at what an efficient killer she is.
Though vicious and bloodthirsty, Lola spends the bulk of her day seeking out warm places to sleep. Her favorite place to snooze is on fresh laundry, preferably laundry that is still in the dryer. It's gotten to the point where I have to be careful she isn't around when I take my clothes out, because she will rocket past me and launch herself into the machine.
When no laundry can be found, Lola will make do with what she can, though she is rarely successful in finding comfortable nap spots. She'll attempt to sleep in anything, be it cereal boxes or crockpots. When she doesn't fit, she'll glare at me like it's MY fault she's too fat for this world (nevermind the fact that she has an expensive cat bed that she refuses to go near).
When she exhausts all possible nap spots, Lola will inevitably crawl under the carpet and lie in wait for me to walk by, at which point she'll sink her claws into my ankle as punishment for not accomodating her totally reasonable fetish for napping in awkward places.
But of course, the moment I stop paying attention to her is when she decides she must have my undivided attention.
Because she owns me, and we both know it.