Interview With Cat

A couple of days ago I was able to sit down with my roommate’s cat (I don’t remember its name) and conduct an interview. Marcelo, the owner of the cat, has been visiting his father in Brazil for the last couple of weeks, leaving me and our other roommate (a 21-year-old Finnish exchange student) to take care of it.

Over the course of two or three hours the cat and I touched on many topics, broached a few otherwise taboo subjects, and aired some grievances.

Below you’ll find a transcript of my interview with cat.

CHRIS WALLACE: Thanks for taking the time to sit down with me.

CAT: Sure, I’m glad to be here.

CHRIS WALLACE: Just out of curiosity, did you have any other plans today?

CAT: No.

CHRIS WALLACE: Do you have plans on any day of the week?

CAT: I don’t know, do you?

CHRIS WALLACE: Let’s move on. I have to confess that I had an ulterior motive in asking you here today.

CAT: Really? What?

CHRIS WALLACE: I’m sure you may have picked up on some hostility I’ve directed towards you in my two months in this apartment.

CAT: You mean all the times you told me to shut the fuck up and called me a fat asshole?

CHRIS WALLACE: Among other things, yes. I was wondering if you might have any insight into why I’m behaving like that.

CAT: Because you’re a faggot.

CHRIS WALLACE: What?

CAT: I think you heard me just fine.

CHRIS WALLACE: I don’t think resorting to… I can’t think of the word for it… when you engage in an argument and just call the other person –

CAT: Ad hominem attacks.

CHRIS WALLACE: Thank you, yes. I don’t think resorting to ad hominem attacks is going to help us bridge our common differences.

CAT: Well what is it when you call me a fat asshole?

(pause)

CHRIS WALLACE: That’s different.

CAT: Why? Please explain how you calling me a fat asshole is any different than me calling you a faggot?

CHRIS WALLACE: Because you were acting like an asshole. And you’re fat.

CAT: And you’re acting like a faggot… and you’re a faggot.

CHRIS WALLACE: let’s get back on track. Marcelo, your… I don’t know what you would call him… your father?

CAT: He’s not my fucking father.

CHRIS WALLACE: Master?

CAT: This isn’t Amistad. I’m not a fucking slave. Do I look fucking black to you?

CHRIS WALLACE: I really don’t know.

CAT: I do what the fuck I want, when the fuck I want.

CHRIS WALLACE: Which is part of the problem.

CAT: What do you mean?

CHRIS WALLACE: Every time I leave my room you’re waiting outside and you yell at me.

CAT: I yell at you?

CHRIS WALLACE: Yes. Well, the cat version of yelling anyway.

CAT: Really? And what does that sound like?

CHRIS WALLACE: (imitating meow sound) Like that.

CAT: First of all, I don’t sound like that. Second of all, did you ever think it might be because I’m hungry?

CHRIS WALLACE: Yes I did. Ever since Marcelo left for his vacation I think I’ve been very diligent in feeding you.

CAT: You call that shit food?!

CHRIS WALLACE: It’s cat food! It’s from the store!

CAT: I don’t give a fuck where it’s from, I’m not eating that shit!

CHRIS WALLACE: Which, once again, is part of the problem. If you don’t want to eat the food that’s given to you, that’s your decision, don’t complain to me.

CAT: Yeah I guess you’re just too busy drinking and doing coke by yourself in your room to worry about whether or not I get fucking fed.

(long pause)

CHRIS WALLACE: I don’t –

CAT: The fuck you don’t.

(pause)

CHRIS WALLACE: Don’t try and turn this around on me. You’re the one who complains all day long, irritating the fuck out of us.

CAT: What do you mean “us?"

CHRIS WALLACE: Me and the other roommate.

CAT: The Dutch guy?

CHRIS WALLACE: He’s Finnish.

CAT: What’s the difference?

CHRIS: Just that Dutch and Finnish people come from completely different countries.

CAT: You’re a real condescending fucking asshole, you know that?

CHRIS WALLACE: You could try looking at a map sometime.

CAT: Yeah, cause I’ll get so much out of it, not being able to fucking read… asshole.

CHRIS WALLACE: It would be more productive than sitting around all day complaining. You ever think about contributing something to the household besides whining?

CAT: You’re right. I’ll just go out and get a job. You think anyone’s looking for an obese mammal that’s a foot tall with an IQ of 12 and no opposable thumbs?

CHRIS WALLACE: You could always get elected to Congress!

(laughter)

CHRIS WALLACE: Am I right?

(more laughter)

CAT: Good one.

CHRIS WALLACE: But seriously, let’s change the subject. Do you think there’s anyway we can stay out of each other’s way for the rest of the time I’m here?

CAT: No. I’m probably going to wait outside of your door every day and yell at you until you give me something decent to eat.

CHRIS WALLACE: You’re not going to get a whole lot of sympathy out of people with the shape you’re in.

CAT: Now who’s engaging in ad hominem attacks?!

CHRIS WALLACE: You’re fat and you’re complaining about not getting enough to eat! You don’t see the irony in that?!

(pause)

CAT: It doesn’t mean you have to be a fuckin’ asshole.

CHRIS WALLACE: I’m sorry. Just stop being so abrasive.

CAT: I can probably ease back a bit.

CHRIS WALLACE. Thank you.

CAT: You going to the club tonight?

CHRIS WALLACE: I don’t have any money.

CAT: Oh.

(pause)

CAT: I saw 2012 the other day.

CHRIS WALLACE: How was it?

CAT: It’s a disaster movie, you know? A lot of shit blows up.

CHRIS WALLACE: Yeah.

(pause)

CHRIS WALLACE: Hey, I’m gonna’ run.

CAT: Don’t you want to know my name?

CHRIS WALLACE: No. Fuck off. I hope you die.

That was my interview with cat.

Reflections On Argentina, Friends, Booze, Drugs, Prostitutes And Farmville

A loft, hookers, coke binges, binge drinking, binge eating, barely legal girlfriends, fruitless job interviews, North American and British drug addict expats, sex on a swing, sex with my own student, Finnish hard-liquor, threatening to piss on my TEFL instructor’s face, gay Brazilians, straight Brazilians, Jewish Brazilians, Jewish straight Brazilians, attractive local naked drunk girls in nightclubs, unattractive fully clothed North American drunk girls in nightclubs, visiting white friends, visiting Mexican friends, self-hatred, low self-esteem, boxing, drug dealers and two different girls who drank to the point of needing to be hospitalized while hanging out with me.

It’s too bad it all had to end.

I checked out of the loft in October and am now renting a room in the Barrio Norte section of the city. It's close to Recoleta and far enough away from the exclusively North American neighborhood of Palermo for me to be happy. I did not, as I prophesized in my last post, run completely out of money -- although I will by the end of this month if I don't find a job. I've been on a couple of interviews that amounted to nothing and sent out about 2 dozen resumes. I wrote sample press releases for a guy running a real estate Ponzi scheme and I wrote ten pages of proposals for a coke addict pervert expat in Palermo -- both resulting in no job. This is shaping up to be a lean Christmas and if things don't turn around soon I'll be completely destitute and out on my ass before the Chinese new year.

Not that it really matters. The halcyon days in this city are behind me and it's time to think about moving on. I've had an event-filled six months, a real banner half-year that more than makes up for the two years of shit life I endured in Los Angeles. I'll remember these last few months fondly, now it's time for something else. Well, eventually something else. I'm staying on for the next three months to finish a personal writing project but after that it's either back to Los Angeles to make another run at it for a while (because I'm an idiot that likes to keep pressing the button that delivers the electroshock rather than the food pellet) or teaching English in Columbia. I'm leaning towards the latter because at least in Columbia -- even though I may be abducted and tortured by FARC rebels -- I'll have a job more rewarding than bringing morons their iced coffees.

Probably the last noteworthy event of my time here was when my friends from Los Angeles, Hunter and Peter, visited for two weeks. Some of the activities one or more of us engaged in were:

A) getting drunk

B) visiting Uruguay

C) getting high

D) eating asado

E) yelling at prostitutes

F) reading Graham Greene

G) getting thrown out of a nightclub

H) watching a traditional Argentine folkloric dance performance.

Other than that there isn't much to report over the last couple of months. Here's a brief summary of what's been happening since they went back to the U.S.:

I slept a lot.

I got drunk by myself.

I got high by myself.

I was depressed for a couple of days while sober.

I was depressed for a couple of days while drunk.

I was depressed for a couple of days while high.

I played Farmville sober.

I played Farmville drunk.

I played Farmville high.

That's all. 

Manny Pacquiao!