The Epic Adventure of the Tree Nut Sesame Cat

Phil the Tree Nut Sesame Cat

This is Gary.

He is a Tree Nut Sesame Cat.

A rarity among mutant mammals, and with sightings numbering in the zero range for the last twenty-one years, he is an evil creation. An unfortunate myth. A nightmare that comes to torment me at the most unlikely of times. He is the black knight of allergens that pounces, silent and unpredictable, on the immune system that is my life.

He is a terror that follows me around without a word. I did tell you that Tree Nut Sesame Cats can speak, right? Well, they can. Why? Because I made them the hell up, that’s why!

When Gary talks, I imagine he would say something like: “I hate you.”

That’s it. Pretty simplistic, but terribly morbid.

Now, if you asked me yesterday if I would be telling you Gary’s story, the answer would have been no. However, as it has been lately requested by someone that you don’t know (I’m lying, it was me), to tell you the tale of Gary the Tree Nut Sesame Cat, I felt it a responsibility on my part to inform you of this majestically awful creature and his adventures tormenting my life.

You are welcome.

~~~~~

Gary’s point of view

I think I’m a pretty chill dude. I mean, I get around places pretty smoothly. I have yet to meet a cat that doesn’t like me, and I’ve always got birds riding my back, looking at me like they want to eat me up. Chicks, man. But it’s a good look, you know? Not one of those bad looks; like the ones you get when you sharpen your claws on your owner’s ugly parlor chair–the one with those stupid red shapes all over it–that looks like someone bled all over the thing.

You were just doing them a favor! But, as usual, it went unappreciated.

Not that I’ve ever done that.

I don’t have an owner. I’m a lone wolf kind of cat. Pretty intimidating, if you ask me. I live in the shadows. The ones that appear in alleys with the tossed out fish from the farmer’s market. The absence of light that exists at the edge of every forest, where even the little critters of the underground don’t crawl for fear of making it too far into the open on the other side of the darkness.

I’m an exception. I go everywhere she goes.

I even go to Disney World.

That’s where I was born. Not me in concept, just me in name. Gary, the Tree Nut Sesame Cat.

Like I said, I don’t have an owner, I just kind of do. She’s this girl I have to follow around; kind of stalker-ish, you know? She doesn’t like me much. Probably because I’m really good at hiding in stuff. I’m like a freaking chameleon. Now you see me. Now you’ll never see me again.

Boom!

I’m fabulous. My tail is a shimmery length of beautiful obsideon sesame glory, and my face is equally as inky soft. My stomach is a mixture of leafy olives and browns; a personal shade of camo that lets me blend where needed. I am a lean, mean, hiding machine. I should be a private investigator. But, unfortunately, my occupation is probably closer to a hit man. I prefer the term elite death-bringer, though. There’s more of a charm to it.

Rupee told the world about me.

Lila gave me a name.

Danny snapped the only photo of me in existence today.

Until that day I was doing so well. And now, look at me. I’m a failure. A fluke. I’ve been seen. And now I’m stuck in the shadows.

Like a monster.

~~~~~

Okay, a little bit of explanation: I’m extremely allergic to tree nuts, sesame, and cats. Gary was created as a joke after my friends discovered a typo of sorts on my Medical I.D. bracelet. That’s about as much explanation as I can give to this incredibly strange post.

I know I didn’t really tell any kind of story. It was more of a post consisting of word vomit than anything else…

I’m so sorry this was so weird! It has just been declared a snow emergency in my area of Michigan and I’m trapped inside as it snows and snows and snows and JUST KEEPS SNOWING! Also, I have an insane amount of homework to do that I’m pushing off. I mean, I had to write this obscure and completely bizarre blog post, right?

I just couldn’t let you guys down!

Plus the Superbowl is on which means, more importantly, the Superbowl commercials are on. The Seahawks have to win because that’s the team Jimmy Fallon’s puppies picked, and we can’t let those puppies down!

I will try to write you an actual post tomorrow. One that makes sense (ish). At least one that has a general point!

Mel

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