Animal Theater

Cat Fancy

"On this corner, Tuesday, September 5, 2023, the police shot down the activist Marty Kline." My father said into his old-fashioned CB handset. "What do you think about that?"

"IT'S A GODDAMNED OUTRAGE!" The eight people on the minibus all screamed together.

"It sure is." He said. "They had the effrontery to say it was suicide, despite the fact that there were a hundred witnesses and he had two gunshot wounds to the head. Must've been quite a guy that Marty Kline, he shoots himself in the head, and then does it again just to be sure. No one questioned the ruling of suicide. You know what I think?"

"IT'S A GODDAMNED OUTRAGE!" The passengers shouted. I always hated this part of the tour. My dad didn't want me home by myself after school, so I had to ride with him on his last tour of the day. I sat up front next to him, and I could read while it was just him talking, but when he got to the call-and-response I had a hard time tuning it out.

The tour ended where it began, in the French quarter. My father always ended the tour with his embarrassing pitch. "If you've enjoyed this tour of outrages against humanity, be sure to tell your friends, and remember, the book version of the tour is available for purchase at my pick address, 577humansuffering64." The tourists left the minibus laughing and talking amongst themselves. My father came around to say goodbye to each of them personally. I noticed a lingerer, waiting until everyone was gone. I hated the lingerers, they were usually history buffs who wanted to point out flaws in my father's patter, or suggest outrages my father's tour had missed.

The lingerer was an older, thin black man, and he was of the second variety. They were standing right next to my window, so I heard their conversation whether I wanted to or not. "You missed the biggest outrage in New Orleans since slavery, and the worst part is it's still going on." The man said. "You drove right by it."

"I did?" My father asked in his fake voice, "What is it?" He was just trying to humor a paying customer.

"The Purina plant." The man said. "I used to work there so I know what goes into their cat food."

"Lemme guess," my father said, "horsemeat, right? That's gross, truly, but I'd hardly call it an outrage against humanity."

"No, not horses." The man paused a moment. "Shut-ins."

My father smiled as if the man had made a strange joke. "What do you mean shut-ins?" He asked.

"Did you know that Louisiana is the shut-in capital of the country? More shut-ins, per capita in this state than any other, by a lot." He said. "And no one thinks twice about it when a shut-in goes missing. Everyone just assumes the poor bastard just killed himself."

"Hmm," my father said, "you used to work there?"

"That's right." He said.

"Did you round up the shut-ins? Kill them? Or were you in charge of grinding them into cat food?"

"Please don't joke about it." The man said. "I understand that it's difficult to work up much sympathy for people who've closed themselves off from the rest of the world, but they are human beings."

"Yes, you're right, I'm sorry." My father said. "I'll look into it, Mr?"

"Ryan."

"I'll look into it Mr. Ryan. If what you say is true, I'll definitely add it to the tour." He shook the man's hand.

Mr. Ryan could tell that my father was just shining him on, but he thanked him anyway and wandered off. My dad climbed back into the minibus and directed the drive program to take us home. He asked if I'd overheard the conversation. "That was a high quality, southern fried fruitcake right there. He knew I didn't believe him, but he didn't get mad, he just felt sorry for me. See your average New Jersey nutjob will get angry and curse you if you don't believe that aliens are communicating through his third nipple or whatever, but down here they just smile at you as if you're the delusional one."