Introducing the World's First Horoscope for Cats

Written by P.J. Maggitti

Tuesday, 12 November 2019

image for Introducing the World's First Horoscope for Cats
Presenting Catmando, a mythical creature that is half man, half beast, and half baked.

Unlike other astrologers, who rely on the mundane, the analog, and the antiquated to arrive at their “predictions,” Catmando boldly goes where no members of the cosmological fraternity dare to venture, predicting the future almost before it happens and divining the past with unerring accuracy. For cats.

Pisces (2/19--3/20): When Catmando tosses the I Kibbles, the two sectors on which the most pieces land are “gets tail slammed in refrigerator door” and “meets the cat of his or her dreams.” Catmando would give you a clearer forecast, but before he could gather the I Kibbles and toss them again, the dog had eaten them.

Aries (3/21--4/19): Drunken aliens wearing Chef John masks sneak into your house through the cat flap. They mistake your water bowl for a urinal and your dry food dish for a sand pile. As you wage unrelenting war against these invaders, your owners make stupid remarks such as, “He can amuse himself all day chasing things that aren’t there.”

Taurus (4/20--5/20): Resist the impulse to crack wise if your owners take you along to the catch-your-own-turkey farm this Christmas. Large, irate birds are impervious to pain and don’t care squat-all what happens to them because they know they’re going to die soon anyway. There are better ways to get your ears pierced.

Gemini (5/21--6/21): You travel unexpectedly when salmonella poisoning gives your owner acute, furious metaflopia: a tendency toward eccentric behavior and scrambling figures of speech. After being caught making an unauthorized deposit at a sperm bank, your owner screams, “You can’t make lemonade without breaking a few omelets.” He satisfies the community-service portion of his sentence by taking you to nursing homes.

Cancer (6/22--7/22): A stunning white Persian with an exotic accent moves in next door. Your heart is stolen. Soon your material possessions begin to disappear, too. The cat’s accent and hair color are bogus. Those are not its real owners either. They’re all in the witness protection program. People you don’t want to meet are looking for them. Stay indoors.

Leo (7/23--8/22): Learn to dial 911. The bird discovers that she can set off the smoke detector by whistling the "Ave Maria." Your owner, too dumb to figure out why the smoke detector keeps going off, removes its battery, puts a macaroni-and-cheese casserole in the oven, sits down to watch wrestling on television, and falls asleep while enjoying a pre-dinner cigarette.

Virgo (8/23--9/22): You are an Earth sign, ruled by your intestines. Your colors are brown, yellow, gray, and green--the colors of hairballs. Your flower is the deadly nightshade. Your musical notes are 2-flat and Z-sharp. Your numbers are III, V, IX, XIII and XLIV. What’s all this add up to? LXXIV, of course. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine.

Libra (9/23--10/23): One by one all the plants in your house are replaced by silk ones. Your owner wallpapers the windows with panoramic nature vistas. Then she begins a home-study taxidermy course. After disappearing for three weeks, the dog, looking strangely inert, reappears on the couch in the living room, next to your owner's husband.

Scorpio (10/24--11/21): The Four Budgies of the Apocalypse fly missions over your lawn. They are not amused that you refer to the bird feeder in the yard as "the drive-thru window." Don’t go outside for a while on any day that ends in a y, even if someone leaves the door open. You could wind up being turned into a pillar of guano.

Sagittarius (11/22--12/21): Your name is an answer in a crossword puzzle. Unfortunately, the clue is, “Most wanted feline criminal.” You must learn to channel your anger. If you envy others whose cups runneth over, why not get a smaller cup? Your next move may be critical. If I knew what it was going to be, I’d tell you.

Capricorn (12/22--1/19): Here’s some advice for you to weigh: Don’t go swimming for an hour after eating catnip. Always walk facing traffic. Most important, get reincarnation insurance. You can't take things with you, but you’ll be coming back eight times, and you’ll want your stuff to be waiting for you. Now then, how much does this advice weigh?

Aquarius (1/20--2/18): The neighbors turn against your owner when he gets a high-powered CB radio for Christmas and his endless conversations are picked up by their computers, radios, and kitchen appliances. Some people who are not CB-literate accuse him of witchcraft when they mistake the huge antenna in your backyard for a religious symbol. They attempt to burn you at the stake.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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