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The Cheshire Cat Goes To Vegas

         The Bay Area Brit here. I just woke up inside a hotel suite at the MGM Grand wearing my trousers as a turban and my hands cuffed together inside an open microwave holding a small box of dog biscuits. I’m not sure what went on last night, but as I understand, whatever happened here is staying here, which frankly I am happy about because it smells like Don Rickles beef jerky farts in this room. I peeled off the Sunday Comics section from my waist. It had been converted into a makeshift grass skirt. I wriggled free from the cuffs and reached inside my mouth; one of my back teeth was loose.
I remember going to a special Las Vegas screening of the new “Alice In Wonderland” film.

          I was supposed to be on a flight back to the Bay Area to write my Monday blog, but I wasn’t ready for travel yet. I switched on the televison as I showered and heard what sounded like the ESPN Boxing Night theme music playing.

            “Good morning fight fans and welcome to Las Vegas. This sleepy desert town has awoken after the weekend with a case of morning breath strong enough to knock the suck out of a vacuum cleaner. Vegas prepares to host one of the strangest heavyweight fights in decades. This collosal clash of the kitty cats is brought to you by:
Friskies–what got into that cat? Friskies.

          The challenger is a spry, agile feline from across the pond weighing in at 11 lbs and 7 ounces in the pink and purple stripes. We head to the ring for the introductions.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, in the red corner: all the way from England, your challenger for this bout, THE CHESSHIIIIIIIRRE CAAAAAT!!!!’
His opponent today in this fast-and-furry feline fisticuffs is a genuine southpaw, all the way from your Sunday Funnies grass skirt, with a record of 22-1 from Muncie, Indiana. He weighed in at 16 lbs 9 ounces.
‘Ladies and gentlemen in the blue corner: You know him; you love him, the current world champion, wearing all orange with black stripes. He’s the atomic tabby with one-two punches of sarcasm and disdain… GAAAAAAAAARRRRFIIIELD!!!!’

Folks, it’s been a while since I’ve seen a champion look so unconditioned before a fight. Bookmakers had him at 7/4 favorite but that was before the weigh-in, and before the fight was rescheduled to a Monday morning. And as you know, Garfield is allergic to Mondays.
Garfield’s pre-fight diet of lasagna and apathy may not bode well. Let’s just hope those quips and sarcastic jibes still come in thick and fast from the champion, and he doesn’t lose his breath too quickly, or we could be looking at a British World Champion, that is if he can remember what happened in his Vegas suite last night.

          The Cheshire Cat is warming up with a few quick shimmies, jabs, and paw gestures.
This Brit can talk the talk but let’s see what happens in this battle of wits. Remember this fight is for the whole kit and kaboodle with the winner taking home, not only the diamond collar, but an estimated prize worth two million bags of premium kibble. No doubt about The Cheshire Cat’s potential; look at the confident grin he’s aiming at the champ in this pre-fight psyche-out. Talk about a toothpaste sponsorship deal waiting to happen. The ref calls the contestants to the middle of the ring.
‘Okay, cats, I want a good clean fight, no scratching, no hissing, no handcuffs, and definitely lots of hitting below the belt.’

Ding! Ding! And there’s the bell!

I hopped out of the shower disbelieving my ears and eyes.

             I watched in amazement while dripping precious desert water on the carpet. I called the hotel lobby to see if the fight was being held nearby, so that I might rush there and catch some of the spectacle.
“Nearby?” the desk clerk said. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Well where then?” I asked, becoming impatient.
“It’s inside your television you stupid, British twit.”
“Well I know that…but…” I suddenly stopped talking and realized what was going on. I was in a Wonderland and I was The Cheshire Cat taking on “Garfield.”

             Garfield: the multi-billion dollar humor factory that establishes the benchmarks for cartoon and merchandising success. I felt like a fool. How could I, The Cheshire Cat win? For one thing Garfield had home litterbox advantage. I watched the end of the fight knowing the outcome full well.

                   “Well, fight fans, the bout is over and now we send it over to ringside with the results from the judges.”

I switched off the television, packed my suitcase, and headed to the airport realizing that if I planned on conquering this country, I’d better write that Monday morning blog.

© Matty Stone, Jim Davis, and Lewis Carroll 2010

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