I’m reminded by Sage Rat’s corgi story of a classic funny/not funny moment that has become a meme of sorts among a small group of close friends (also a litmus test for the type of folks with a taste for the type of humor we go in for).
This is long, so bear with me.
Brother #1 had a cat named Peanut Butter, or PB for short. This cat was very pretty, but was also a miserable bitch. When my nephew, “Jimmy” was born, PB had to go live next door with Grandpa because she was too sour and mean to have around the baby.
Things were fine for several years, time passed, we all aged. Jimmy was probably about four years old when there was some occasion that brought family members from all points back to the family compound, sleeping in spare bedrooms and living rooms, including the old sofa bed in Grandpa’s living room which was occupied by Brother #2 and his new wife, who had never met the family before.
One afternoon, we were all sitting around Grandpa’s house (on and around the folded-up sofa bed) reminiscing, when someone asked “Where’s PB?” My new sister-in-law pointed at a pair of white paws and said “She’s right there sleeping under the couch.”
Eyes got big. There was a pregnant pause and someone said “…There is no ‘under the couch’…”
Oh boy, shit got real right about then.
Long story short, PB was indeed under the couch when it got closed up and was no longer with us*. This, of course, produced no small amount of drama and hand-wringing, especially from new SIL who was horrified that this might have been her fault. What a way to meet the in-laws, amirite?!?!
Later on, after the appropriate clean up and disposal, the family event migrated next door for dinner. Sis-in-law #1, who is a notoriously insufferable douchebag of the airy fairy woo type, as well as a relatively new parent of her first and only child, felt that this would be an excellent “teaching opportunity” to help Jimmy learn about the Circle of Life and getting in touch with his feelings, so, she and Bro #1 collected the tyke and informed him in a most serious tone “Jimmy, please sit down, we have something to tell you.” Yes, in the middle of a family event.
I’m sure many of you have been in the presence of four year old boys before, and can attest to their amazing powers of attention and incredible self-control. Within seconds the child was squirming to get away in order to resume playing, racing around, smashing things, etc., and simply yelped out “WHAT?!?!”
Bro #1 and SIL #1 gravely intoned, “…PB is…dead.”
To his credit, little Jimmy immediately saw the gravity of the situation and hollered out, “WHO’S PB?!?!” before racing off.
By now, the more black-hearted nihilists in the group (i.e. me, Bro #2, his best pal from high school, and SIL #2) had been imbibing and growing quite weary of the overwrought emotional state of most everyone else and were sniggering into our sleeves. It seemed like a good time to pack up and head out to our favorite watering hole to drown our sorrows, so we piled into the car and began what turned into an epic evening of wise-cracking gallows humor at the expense of poor PB. During the relatively short ride, all of our collective pent-up derision and impatience with the entire event erupted, and it became a wake…an extremely caustic and inappropriate wake. Much hilarity and sarcastic epitaphs ensued. I’m pretty sure my new SIL (in the front seat) didn’t appreciate my clawing the back of her seat and meowing frantically, but she was a good sport about it.
When we reached our local pub destination, we were already weeping with laughter. We had informed many other friends that we’d be at the pub and to meet us there later. As they trickled in, they were met with our sobbing laughter and pounding upon the table, and assumed that there was real fun afoot! Everyone wanted to be part of that party, until they asked us what was so funny, and we had to explain. Their hopeful, jolly faces quickly faded into masks of horror and disgust, yet as we continued the story, broke into smiles, then snickers, then gales of laughter at the gross absurdity of the whole thing. By closing time, we were probably 15 strong, each toasting poor PB and contributing our own special memories and heartfelt “Bon Voyages” for the dear departed feline.
During the wake, I recalled a jump-rope rhyme that I learned as a child, and sang it out for everyone:
“A peanut was sittin’ on a railroad track,
It’s heart was all a-flutter.
Along came the train,
Clickety-clack!
Toot! Toot! Peanut Butter!”
EPILOGUE
Jimmy will be 30 this year, and has turned into a fine young man.
Bro #2 died of cancer in 2011; we toasted his passing by raucously sharing every mortifying memory and drinking heavily .
His best pal from high school and I are still good friends, and we still greet each other with a “TOOT TOOT!”
*I maintain that the cat was ancient and had expired long before the creaky, rusty, old sofa bed came down upon her. What sort of healthy, self-respecting cat would allow such an undignified exit?
