cat in the cemetery

When I go into the office (hybrid, remember?), I pass the cemetery we buried my father. One day, I saw a dead cat. It was about, I dunno, five feet from the fence? Laying prone in the grass, flattened in a way that suggested death, not a nap. (I do now have a pet cat, but do not fear that these thoughts/posts will be dominated by an animal lover. I peacefully co-exist with the newest roommate, but I wouldn’t characterize our relationship as getting along like a house on fire.) I told Husband about the dead cat, and he told me this anecdote/joke:

Husband: There were two hobos walking along a railroad track.
Me: Wait, is this a joke?
Husband: Maybe. You can decide. May I continue?
Me: Sure.
Husband: There were two hobos, and one hobo was thrilled to find the cat. “Lunch!” he said. Do you want some? He asked Hobo 2. Hobo 2 politely declined, so Hobo 1 feasted on the cat alone. An hour or so later, he threw up. Hobo #2 said “Hot lunch!”

I didn’t laugh. But we discussed at length how I usually am unsuccessful at repeating jokes because my brain typically starts with the punchline. (I think I think about the past, present, and future simultaneously, which makes me confusing as a public speaker or corporate meeting participant.) He tried to be helpful: “you have to make sure you say ‘Lunch!’ in order to make ‘Hot lunch!’ work. Even now, I’m not sure that I have accurately portrayed the joke, but I admire the fact his brain is able to organize the material into its particular order, almost like a photographic memory. When I tell jokes and stories, as I said due to the time lapse take I have on life, often the results are either stream of consciousness at best or confusing. I may have said this before in this blog, but I am not necessarily that organized.

Oh well. It’s okay.


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