Letter
From HankLetter
From HankMarch 29, 2002
Well, first, let
me assuage your fears: Iım OK. It was all a misunderstanding. But I got into
a fight. Over a broad.
When the Food
Bitch went to sleep last night, I was at the foot of the bed, a/k/a
my hair circle or "hogıs wallow." This is my usual MO: I sleep until
sheıs asleep, then I get up and start my night. So, around 1 AM I wandered out
and uptown to an all-night poker game I occasionally frequent. OK, frequently
frequent. I was doing quite wellaround 3 AM I had doubled my cash-at-hand.
And then it happened.
It was the hand of
a lifetime. Four beautiful women. I donıt even remember what the other card
was. The wagering was getting fierce, with Blackie Ruiz trying to win back his
lost pesos. By the time we called, all others had dropped out, and the kitty
was the highest itıs been in aught-two.
I confidently showed
my paw, those four lovely ladies beaming up at me. And then Blackie showed his:
a kingıs toilet. What the what the hey? I had the queen of spades! He had the
queen of spades! Dukes went up, punches were exchanged. It was quite a battle.
I got socked in the jaw. But you shoulda seen the other guy!
Anywhoo, I got home
around 6 AM, just in time for breakfast. But one of my incisors was lautrec,
ya know, too loose. I was pawing at my tender mouth trying to extract the offending
tooth when the food bitch got up to serve us. There I was, my paw in my mouth,
my tongue hanging out like a houn dawg, a bloody muzzleneedless to say, FB
freaked the F out.
I was shuttled in
a deluxe limo over-scented with strawberry air freshener to the Animal Medical
Center, where I was attended to by a lovely babe who plucked the bloody molar
from my mouth, and strongly recommended that I return for a full dentistry!
Well, anyone whoıs smelled my delicious tuna breath could see that coming up
the street. But, horror of horrors, she also suggested I see a cardiologist!
Immediately if not sooner!
So, the upshot is,
Iım going to be one expensive cat when this is all over. Food Bitch said she
didnıt care, that I was worth at least $10,000. So give ME the money, fool!
Send money to me via Brother Mungo charities.
Food bitch said I needed to see the cardiologist, and that didn't seem like a half-bad idea. I've seen Penn + Teller on TiVo, and I figured if I could learn some card tricks, not only could I pick up more babes, but I could use my new skill to palm during poker and blackjack games. I know several people tried to tell me that the cardiologist was a heart doctor, and not someone who trains you in slight of hand. Was I listening? I guess not. I was probably sleeping, or drunk. Please, folks, next time leave me notes so I remember. So I wasn't too upset to be woken up early one Tuesday morning apres breakfast (sliced chicken friskies. pretty good). FB eased me into my new posh carrier, and then we took the A train.
The train is noisy. Did you know that? I tried to sleep, but sometimes I woke up, and I was surrounded by weird people.
We got off at Trump Plaza, and I was thinking my lesson would be there, but then we hopped in a taxi and sped across Central Park. It's full of birds and I may want to visit again one day.
After FB stopped for a cawfee (light, no sugar), we entered the building. Wait... this place smells familiar... NO! It's the same place I was last week! This time FB wasn't in quite such a state. I slept for a bit while FB chatted with another FB. The other FB had a copy of Catwings by Ursula K. LeGuin. That's one of Mungo's favorite books. This FB had a nice looking older gal with her. She had markings like Mungo, orange and white, only with some brown also. She had pretty eyes and she told me she wasn't scared, but I think she was lying. I asked her if she wanted to play poker, but she said she only played bridge. I don't know what that is really, except I think they used to play it on I Love Lucy or something. I got her number and I'm going to call her tonight and we're going to get together and she'll teach me to play bridge. Then I spoke with a greyhound who had a sprained ankle. He looked real familiar, and it turned out I'd seen him run down in Tallahassee at the races. He's retired now, and has a couple of servants, two nice eastern European people. Good deal, eh? Musta had a nice retirement package.
Soon, the cardiologist came out, and it was a woman, which was a little suspect to me. What do the bitches know about cards? Well, not much, but I guess they know about hearts. And she was quite charming. She noted how handsome I was, and said I was even more curious than other cats. I wanted to tell her that she'd obviously never met Mungo, but I was busy trying to escape. She listened to my ticker, and then the intern did also. Then they took me in the back for an EKG and a doppler study. I swear this is true. I thought Doppler was only for weather, but I was wrong.
"Anywhoo," (and I'm saying that to annoy you), I'm fine. I knew I was. I told her I was. She didn't believe me. It was sort of like that episode of The Osbornes when the mom Sharon made a gynecologist appointment for the daughter, Kelly. "There's nothing wrong with me!," protested Ozzy's spawn. "There's something wrong with her! She's bored!"
Now I know why humans dread the dentist.
I'm missing four teeth! And my dentist, despite his excellent credentials, refused to implant the gold teeth I desired. Heinous swindler!
The trip down was a repeat of the last: A train, taxi, cawfee, sitting around. I met a fantastic gentleman named Frankie, a solid black boy from Brooklyn. His Food Bitch has a car and he says he will beseech her to drive us to Atlantic City in the near future. He has a sassy mistress named Trxie, so maybe I can take Polyhymnia along and the two gals can go get plastered and see some male strippers while Frank and I play roulette. Then we'll meet up for a late supper and maybe take a nice walk along the boardwalk. Mungo can come along if he stays with the women.
After a very long time a valkyrie of a broad appeared and whisked me out of my travel bed and to another room. The rest is sort of a blur, but my mouth was sore when I awoke. We hired a cab to take us all the way back to the Heights. It was one of those big cabs that sort of look like they're from Blade Runner, only with a real driver as opposed to the Jerry Mahoney driver. For those who don't recall, Jerry Mahoney was a 'dummy' who had his own tv show in the early 60s. Mahoney, his sidekick Knucklehead Smith, and their femme foil Tessa were all played by Paul Winchell, whom you may know as the voice of Tigger and Scrubbing Bubbles.
FB doesn't know which of my teeth are gone, and I ain't telling her. Oddly enough, this week Bucky from the cartoon Get Fuzzy also lost a tooth, his 'pointy,' as he so sweetly refers to it. He lost it in a devilish plot to capture his brother Satchel's new pet ferret. The ferret's name? FUNGO. I could not make this stuff up, I swear. If this is some sort of wacky sympathetic magic, then I think the FB needs to write to the Get Fuzzy guy and have him make some of the characters win millions of dollars.
İ 2002 Henrey Lee Lucat, esq.