Why television is bad, or, the transfenestration of Bebe T.C.Q

Peter the rocket scientist decides to get rid of his TV so he gives it to us. Monday night we switch it on and our brains turn to jelly for some time. Talk about your compelling content. Friends! Seinfeld! Mad About You! The Figureskating National Championships! Finally Jeremy staggers away and in a mighty feat of strength, I hit the Power-off button on the remote. Silence.

Now the trouble is, our house has never been silent since the coming of Bebe the Circus Queen, small black feline marauder and general-purpose creature of darkness. At any time of the day and night there is liable to be a tinkling of bell, a skittering of claw and if we're really lucky, a wyrd yowling as the Beebster hurtles blindly and meaninglessly from room to room.

The search begins. We hunt, we call, we check underneath our unfeasibly large collection of futons. No Beeb. I begin to hyperventilate with fear and distress. I wander from room to room, howling her name.

She cries back. Inspection reveals that from a perch in our bedroom window she has plummeted some three meters into the neighbour's garden, where rampant hibiscus broke her fall. She is undamaged but thoroughly annoyed. Jeremy sets out on a rescue mission and returns much bescratched with one (1) highly indignant Circus Queen in a box.

I barricade the windows. Lucky it's a cool night.

Lessons learned:

  1. Transfenestration - it's not just for characters in Thomas Pynchon novels.
  2. Television, the drug of the nation, breeding ignorance and yada yada yada.
  3. Real rocket scientists don't watch TV.
Tuesday, September 22, 1998. Cute cat stories, 24/7.
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