Commie Cat Club Meets Wednesdays at 4:30pm - #56
Chairman Meow (source)
A small brick townhome in Montréal, Canada. A letter hits the green front door. A brunette older woman dawning a tie-dye shirt steps out, picks up the mail, and sees a letter. She peers at it and walks back inside to the dining table. Rips it open:
Dear Mom,
Hope you’re well with the new pug! This is Gerald, you’re favorite son who can’t seem to find a Dipping Dots in this godforsaken town. Why is Capitalism a ruthless killer of alternative ice cream??
Anyways, writing letters to parents should be normalized again. This feels way more satisfying to write like it’s the 19th century than to give you a phone call or email. (And I know I texted you that I would mail you, and that defeats the point, but… here we are, haha.)
Still president of my Commie Cat Club. When I get off work at the Marino Beano Coffee Corner on 3rd and Main, I lock the doors at 4pm, clean up the cafe, and every Wednesday at 4:30pm, my fellow comrades join me for a two hour meeting on the back patio of the shop as it’s a super cute space full of pretty pink roses (“post-chic”, as Yavhit called it). Part leftist reading circle, part activist group, and part cat club – we bring our own cats – and yes, I love it. Original reason why I made the collective; well, that and to fight systemic oppression. We’re coming up on our one-year anniversary this next week and Teresa my Tabby is looking straight fire with her shiny fur coat. Simone’s Persian beauty is a close second, but nobody beats Teresa. And yes, Amendment One of our Commie Cat Club Constitution does say, “Thou shall not be jelly of other people’s felines,” but I’ve already crossed that line when everyone started loving Simone’s blue-eyed wonder. I’m already President and was thinking about vetoing that Amendment for the sake of funsies, however, isn’t that how all communist dictatorships start? I don’t want to reinforce the stereotype by becoming a mini-Mao.
Nine people currently come to the collective every week. We had ten for the longest time, but Andrik moved back to Iceland recently and promised he would write to us about his efforts in Rejvkyfvfik. Our best time with Andrik was actually right before he left. It was 7 o’clock in the morning, last Tuesday, and in front of Mayor Dipshit’s Counselor of Utilities’ two-story McMansion (very ecletic!), we staged a “die-in protest” to show solidarity with the non-citizen workers at the city’s nuclear power plant. According to a friend, a rabid dog was living in the reactor’s attic subsisting on roaches and rats, and one day, it escaped and started biting all the working-class Mexicans with its radioactive rabies. The energy company, “CrapCal”, hushed the whole thing and refused to pay medical bills when the company’s workers comp insurance denied the claim – “we don’t cover canine catastrophes,” they said. And the undocumented immigrant families were left with the bills. Well Mom, when I say we were the first group in town to know this – oh, we had the Spidey senses to stop that train. So there we were, lying on the ground, foaming at the mouth, trying to do our best zombie noises. Unfortunately, our protest came to an abrupt end when they turned on the sprinklers.
Our efforts did not go unnoticed! An intern for the local paper heard about our comrade activity, interviewed us, took our picture, and the next day, we were on the front page of the Daily Gazette! The Counselor stepped down for letting CrapCal off the hook, and the energy company received a class action lawsuit. Which goes to show two things: 1) The fight against injustice never ends, and 2) Cats > Dogs (sorry, Mom).
I couldn’t have done it without Natalia. Honestly, ever since we laid eyes on each other during the 2020 Bernie Sanders campaign, we’ve been a loving couple thick and thin. We had rough spot earlier this year when I explained to her that I wanted a third person in the relationship, and I know that’s a big no-no for a lot of people, but Natalia is so open and understanding, she was down for it. If he was bisexual just like me and her, it was a huge plus. And honestly Mom, I tried, I really did, but the dating market is filled with these men dripping in drama (not just gay men; ALL men). First it was Rodney (ginger who simps for Marx – talk about basic), but he was way too sticky for me. Texted twice daily! Who does that? Then there was Artie, but he was allergic to cats, and then I met Luke, and he was alright at first, but he was a Disney adult. Walt Disney was an antisemitic union crusher who portrayed Asians terribly, and Natalia is a Vietnamese waitress who unionized her coworkers at the Clam Shuck Barn – so I just knew Luke and Natalia wouldn’t get along, and it’s very important to me for there to be harmony in a three-person relationship. After that it was Duncan, Kriss, Milbert (couldn’t get past the name), Trenton, Vince, and Ergu (Iranian eco-anarchist who rambled about Bitcoin too much, and didn’t like it when I told him Bitcoin literally contributes to climate change). I gave it up, and told Natalia I connected with women way better and that I only wanted her. She said aaawww and we then decided to make it official. Yes, you read that right!
Mom – prepare to meet Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen this Fall at our traditional Vietnamese wedding ceremony! Just without all the religious jargon and the State getting involved in our Love. Instead of a diamond ring (a tradition manufactured by the 20th century diamond industry), we’re thinking of an amber ring with glowy topaz that was mined and smelted by a worker-owned mining cooperative in Norway. And of course, we’ll have a separate ceremony for Teresa and Boba (Natalia’s Ragamuffin)!
What a long winded way to break the news! Let Dad know he’s allowed to come as long as he leaves his kimono in Montréal.
Love you! Meow!
Gerald Gagné
(source)