Excerpt from The Cat-Scanned Emails by Max Werther, 28, a per diem proctologist of Wilmington, NC:

 

From:  Max

To: Lynn@honey.com

Subject:  Ham & Ophie

Ham called.  Ophie got a hold of your hairspray and snorted half the bottle!  “I’m a bird!” she cried.  “I’m a bird!  Tweet, tweet f&*kin’ tweet!  I’m a god$#*m bird!”  The drug-crazed cat then leaped onto the kitchen counter and ran through the friggin’ window, leaving shards of broken glass all over the sink!  “I’m a bird!

Excerpt from The Cat-Scanned Emails by Max Werther, 28, a per diem proctologist of Wilmington, NC:

 

From:  Max

To: Lynn@honey.com

Subject:  Ham & Ophie

 

Horrible news!  Apparently, one of us left the door open when we left for work.  Ophie stepped out, crept over to the pool area, took off the tarp (how she lifted the cinder blocks and bricks is beyond me) and filled the pool with water!  Somehow, the little putty tat turned on the filter, dumped in some chlorine, and commenced some desperately needed lap swimming!  That would have been all fine and dandy, but the story doesn’t end there.  Ophie trotted back into the kitchen, grabbed a few brewskies, and made her way back to the pool.  Ham watched in awe as his sister shotgunned 2 beers within minutes.  She then decided to climb up the tallest bamboo chute and use that as a diving board.  Ham watched in horror as she walked along the chute.  Her weight caused it to bend and it curled over the pool.  Ophie was hiccuping and singing in a drunken stupor as she came to the end of the chute.  “Wash this, Ham!” she slurred miserably as Ham watched this mess from the window.  “Wash me do a friggin’ cannonball, brutha!” she cried. 

 

 

 

Well, she jumped up in the air (as if she was springing on a diving board) and here’s what happened:  once she jumped, the bamboo whipped back and smacked our baby like a rubberband!  “Christ!” she cried.  Ophie was catapulted out of the pool area, over the bamboo, out of the neighborhood, out of Wilmington!  Ham immediately dialed 911 and informed them of the situation.  They said they’ve been getting calls regarding hairy UFOs with fat asses in the vicinity and they’d look into it.  Ham was so distraught he immediately fell asleep on the couch.  OPHIE IS STILL MISSING!  Don’t let this ruin your day.  I’ll tell Ham to leave out an open can of tuna.  She’ll be back.

Excerpt from The Cat-Scanned Emails by Max Werther, 28, a per diem proctologist of Wilmington, NC:

 

From:  Max

To: Lynn@honey.com

Subject:  Ham & Ophie

Hey honey!  It’s good to hear that you and your Mom are going to take the cooking class together!  That should be a blast.

Ham called.  Ophie enrolled in a cooking class.  This morning was the first class.  Ophie sat in the front of the classroom, wearing her three-foot high chef hat, blocking the vision of half the students.  “Okay, class,” said the teacher.  “Today we are going to make chicken cordon bleu.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Ophie said politely in her sweet voice we so rarely hear anymore.  “I’d like to make a tuna casserole.”  “Well, Miss Ophie,” said the teacher.  “Perhaps we can make a tuna casserole next week.”  “I’d like to make a tuna casserole now,” said Ophie.  “Um,” said the teacher, “we need to stick to our agenda, Miss Ophie.” 

“You sonofabitch!” Ophie cried.  “Let’s see you STICK TO THIS!”  She took out a spray can of PAM and cracked it over the teacher’s head!  The teacher staggered backwards and fell into a pool of his own blood.  The students screamed and tried to escape with their lives!  Ophie hopped onto the table in front of the class and whipped out her AK-47.  She cackled as she gunned down her fellow students in cold blood.  She then dropped the armory, dove into the teacher’s pile of ingredients, and pulled out a can of tuna.  “Ah,” she sighed.  “Tuna casserole!”

SUDDENLY…the teacher, drenched in blood, rose from the floor!  In a dying gasp, he grabbed Ophie by the tail and threw her into the microwave!  “Die, you demon cat from hell!” he cried as he typed in 5 minutes at full power.  Ophie pounded on the microwave door but to no avail!  IS THIS THE END OF OPHIE?!  WILL THE TUNA CASSEROLE EVER BE MADE?!  OR WILL THE MICROWAVE COMBINE THE TWO AND CREATE THE HAIRIEST SERVING OF CATFISH EVER?

Don’t know.  At this point Ham dropped the phone and curled himself into a hairball to take a comfy nap.

Excerpt from The Cat-Scanned Emails by Max Werther, 28, a per diem proctologist of Wilmington, NC:

 

From:  Max

To: Lynn@honey.com

Subject:  Ham & Ophie

 

 

Lynn,

 

Honey, we need to do something about those groundhogs under the shed.  I can’t believe how many vegetables they’ve eaten out of our garden just this week!

 

Ham called.  Ophie opened the kitchen door, went out to the shed, crawled under it, grabbed one of the groundhogs, pulled him out from beneath the shed and said, “Look, @&*$&!!  This is my turf!  Get lost!”  Suddenly, Ophie found herself completely surrounded by six groundhogs!  She dropped the groundhog, whipped out an AK-47 with multi-tasking capabilities and open fired!  The groundhogs…and the shed…are dead.  Ophie then hopped on top of the roof of the house and open fired, converting half the neighborhood to Swiss cheese!

 

Hooping and hollering, she took out a grenade launcher and launched a dozen grenades towards the highway, taking out miles of conrete and killing hundreds!  The National Guard was called in and they surrounded the house.  “You’ll never take me alive, you bastards!” Ophie cried.  A general opened a can of tuna, placed it on the carport driveway, and ran for his life.  Ophie, the foolish feline, hopped out the kitchen window and buried her flat face in the tuna can.  She was apprehended immediately.  Bail is set at $5,000,000.

Excerpt from The Cat-Scanned Emails by Max Werther, 28, a per diem proctologist of Wilmington, NC:

 

From:  Max

To: Lynn@honey.com

Subject:  Ham & Ophie

 

 

Lynn,

 

Rough day today.  2 hour conference call this morning but I only recall ten minutes of it.  What say I make dinner tonight?

Ham called.  Ophie sneezed and accidentally sent herself into another dimension!  “Where the hell am I?” she asked.  Pink stars and crystal birds floated past her.  Ophie looked down at her paw and saw that she could see through it to the floor!  “What the (CENSORED) is going on here?” she cried.  She turned around and saw a tall beer bottle.  It had a sign on it that read, “DRINK ME.” 

“Damn straight,” said Ophie.  She grabbed the bottle and guzzled it.  In a blink of an eye, she turned into a rabbit.  “(CENSORED) me!” she cried. 

Just then, Alice fell out of the sky and landed by Ophie’s feet.  “Dear me!” cried Alice.  She looked at Ophie and said, “There you are, rabbit!  Why did you come down this hole?”

Ophie kicked her in the ass.  “(CENSORED) you!” she cried.  “Who the (CENSORED) are you to (CENSORED) talk to me like that, you (CENSORED) bitch?!”  Alice, stunned, tried to crawl the hell outta there, but banged her head against a pink star and was knocked silly.  Ophie grabbed her wallet, hopped over to a bar, bought the Mad Hatter a drink, and got completely (CENSORED)faced!

Those kids!  What are we going to do about them?

From the e-mails of Max Werther, 28, a per diem proctologist of Wilmington, NC, to his wife, Lynn:

 

From:  Max

To: Lynn@honey.com

Subject:  Ham & Ophie

 

Dear Lynn,

 

Ham called.  Ophie brought in the mail and found one of those “YOU MAY ALREADY BE A ONE MILLION DOLLAR WINNER!” sweepstake envelopes.  She ripped it open and found a picture of Ed McMahon with a caption beneath his picture that said, “Call this number now, and you may be a winner!”

 

 

“What the f$*%?” Ophie cried, so she hopped on the kitchen counter and dialed the stinkin’ number.  Some woman answered.  “I want my money!” Ophie cried into the phone.  “Excuse me?” the woman responded.  “SHUT UP, B#$%!” Ophie howled.  “Gimme my god%^& money before I shove this f#%in’ phone down your f#%in’ throat!”  “What on earth are your talking about?” the poor operator said on the other line.

 

 

“I got dis here letter sayin’ I won a million clams,” said Ophie.  “That’ll buy me a sh#*load of tuna!”  “I’m sorry,” said the woman, “but that letter clearly states that you MAY be a winner.  You had to dial this number, which you have, to find out if you won or not.  And I’m sorry to say you did NOT win.”

 

“WHAT?!” Ophie cried. 

“And,” said the operator, “this call has cost you $12.75.”

 

 

Well, Ophie was so enraged, she began to rip the phone out of the wall.  She pulled so hard she pulled the friggin’ operator out of her booth, through the phone line, and into our kitchen!  “Now den, b#tch,” said Ophie, “where’s my god%^& money??”

 

Those kids!  What are we going to do with them?

From the e-mails of Max Werther, 28, a per diem proctologist of Wilmington, NC, to his wife, Lynn:

 

From:  Max

To: Lynn@honey.com

Subject:  Ham & Ophie

 

Dear Lynn,

 

If you paint the Cork Room, I’ll finish up the yard work.  I’m outta here at 5:30 at the latest today.

 

Ham called.  He and Ophie were playing “Go Tuna” when there was a knock on the door.  “Who the f%&*# is that?” Ophie cried.  She opened the door and found an adorable, fat, hairy Persian cat.  The cat was wearing a traveler’s hat and was carrying and overpacked suitcase.  “Hi!” said the cat.  “My name is Beru, your long lost brother!”

“You mean there were actually three in the litter?” Ophie asked.

“Yes,” said Beru.  “You see, the day we were born, I was accidentally placed on a shelf and mistakenly assumed as a bookend.”

 

“Bulls#%t,” said Ophie.

 

Beru shrugged.  “That’s the best I could come up with,” he said.  He shoved Ophie aside and let himself in.  Ham waddled over to hug him and Beru knocked him on his stinkin’ ass.  “I’m living here now,” said Beru as he cracked open a cold one.  “I’m two years behind on love and support.”  “Support this,” Ophie muttered.

 

Well, the three got along fine.  They played games, napped, shat in the litterbox and wiped their eye goo all over our living room walls, the bastards.  “Welcome home,” said Ophie.  “You’ll always be a member of our family.”  With tears in their eyes, Ophie, Ham and Beru all hugged and softly licked each other’s faces.  “Come,” said Ophie, “dine with us, true brother!”

 

So, the three happy puttys trotted into the kitchen.  As Ophie began to explain, “Now Beru, you’ll be sharing Ham’s dish…” Beru instantly inhaled both Ham’s and Ophie’s dishes like a brand new Hoover.

 

“Delicious!” cried Beru.  “What’s for dessert?”  Well, the fur on Ophie’s face turned blood red and smoke poured out of her ears.  Ophie drew back her paw and swiftly kicked Beru square in the ass!  Beru went through the kitchen ceiling with a howl and was never seen again.

 

Ham and Ophie went back to their cards.  “Got any goddamn sevens?” Ophie asked.

 

 

Ophie turned on the washing machine and fell in during the final rinse cycle!  Ham sat back and watched in horror as his sister was sucked through the drain pipes and is now underneath the carport driveway!  “Get me the f*&# outta here!” she cried.  Ham was so upset that he hopped onto our bed, crawled up in a ball, and took a nice, comfy nap.  Ophie is now wedged, under the driveway. muttering unpublishable obscentities under her breath.  Bob Bennett then called to say that he administered the dye test.  I told him he should have called first!!

 

He said, “Yeah, I know.  I just pulled out a miserable purple Persian from your septic tank.”

 

Those kids!  What are we going to do about them???

Excerpt from The Cat-Scanned Emails by Max Werther, 28, a per diem proctologist of Wilmington, NC:

 

From:  Max

To: Lynn@honey.com

Subject:  Ham & Ophie

Date:  March 17^th  

 

Lynn,

 

Ham called.  There was a knock on the front door, and Ophie answered it.  “It was a friggin’ leprechaun!” Ham said.  He told Ham and Ophie that if they would give him a pint of ale, he would give them a pot o’ gold!  “A pint for a pot,” the leprechaun friggin’ said.  “Sure,” said Ophie, “c’mon in, ya mick bastard.”  The putty tats let him in.  Ophie ran to the kitchen, took a Rock out of the fridge, and handed it to the leprechaun.  “Now where’s my goddamn gold?” Ophie asked.  “Gold?” replied the leprechaun as he held up the Rolling Rock.  “For this piss water?”  Ophie grabbed the beer bottle out of his hand and cracked it over his head.  Blood spurted across the room (which is okay, since we’re getting new carpet).  Ophie then pulled down the leprechaun’s pants, drove the beer bottle up his sorry ass, and threw him in the fireplace where he went up like a Stay Puff friggin’ marshmallow!  Ham then opened the front door where there stood a pot o’ gold!  Ophie dove into it, crying, “Money!  Look at all this friggin’ goddamn money!!!”  Well, wouldn’t you know it?  She took the money to the Turf Club and threw it all on the 3rd race.  Her goddamn horse didn’t even place!  The money’s GONE!  Those kids! (*Chuckle!*)  What are we going to do with them?

 

Love,

Me

 

Excerpt from The Cat-Scanned Emails by Max Werther, 28, a per diem proctologist of Wilmington, NC:

 

From:  Max

To: Lynn@honey.com

Subject:  Tonight

 

I have to pick up my shirts at the dry cleaners on the way home.  What say chicken soft tacos tonight?  What say?

 

Ham called.  Seems that Ophie’s joined a cult.  She shaved her kitty head and has braided her tail and is now at the airport handing out lilies and pamphlets, spreading the word of Allah or Buddah or someone whose name ends in “ah”.  I told Ham that this was not acceptable.  He hung up and hopped on the bed, not a care in the world running through his small head.  I’m taking a long lunch to drive down to the airport and march our little girl’s ass right the hell home!  (We simply have to bring down their toys from the apartment before things really get out of hand!)