Catfish, 1976

 Okay, so....I can't remember if I've told y'all this. Or if I SHOULD tell y'all this. But....

Way back when I was at Ole Miss I lived in the Roundhouse Apartments. They were these one- and two-story apartments that were round. The nicest thing about them was that they were situated in a beautiful, wooded area close to campus.

I and my two roommates had the incredible luck of getting a one-story roundhouse in the very back of the development, nestled right in the woods.

At night when the weather was nice, I would open my window to sleep among the sounds of the night creatures. Every morning, I would wake up to find about four or five feral cats in bed with me. The minute I moved, they'd freak out and jump back out the window, never to be seen again until the next morning when it would happen all over again.

Anyway, one day a really sweet ginger tabby showed up with a collar. I started feeding it and petting it and letting it make itself at home. Then he'd disappear for a day or two. One day, he returned and I noticed something wrapped around his collar. It was a note:

In a very sweet, rounded, female hand, it said, "Whoever is taking care of my kitty, thank you so much. I would love to meet you." She dotted her i's with little hearts. It was so cute.

So, naturally, being the evil, wicked person I am, I wrote a note back, and wrapped it around his collar. In very masculine, blocky, all-caps writing, I wrote. "Yeah. Hey. I've been taking care of your cat. He's cool.'

We went back and forth, she wanting to get to know me better, and I telling her I was ex-Marine and working my way through school. Needless to say, the notes got kinda personal.

Then one night, little long-haired, blonde feminine me was at a party and started talking to some girl who informed me she lived at the roundhouse apartments. I can't remember how, but she told me about this ginger cat she had.

After awhile, I figured it out and told her I was the ex-Marine who'd been taking care of her cat. Then I started giggling uncontrollably.

You never saw such a hissy fit in your life! It was like Catfish before the internet. Now, I don't know if that makes me evil or just funny, but I thought it was hilarious. I couldn't understand why she didn't think it was as funny as I did.

So. Whatever. Be careful with your cat. That's all I can say. I still miss that little ginger bastard.

Sacagawea Shapiro

I have this friend who's one of the funniest people I know. Here's an example: We were visiting at The Eola Hotel one night and she's talking about this guy she knows.

Rachel: Well, you know, he's, like, really cool. He's a marine or navy seal or something and he actually killed Saddam Hussein's accountant.

Me:

Rachel:

Me: He killed who?

Rachel: Saddam Hussein's accountant.

Julie the Bartender: What was he doing? Crunching the numbers or something?

Me: I mean, yeah. How dangerous can an accountant be? Did he take away his calculator or something?

Rachel: Well, I dunno. But he was SADAM HUSSEIN'S accountant... 

Me:

Rachel...And I feel really bad about shooting him (the guy who shot Saddam Hussein's accountant) that one time.

Tommy: You SHOT him??

Me: You SHOT him? Where??

Rachel: In the back Forty. The pasture.

Me:

Rachel: Well, we were bird hunting and there was this low-flying bird just over a hill.

Tommy: You mean you Dick Cheney'd him?

Rachel: Yeah.

The whole night was like that. She's part Indian and part jewish. I mean, she could be a jewish Indian princess. We decided she should do a standup routine and call herself Sacagawea Shapiro.