People ask me, “Mina, who do you like in the Super Bowl?” To which I reply, “Bowl? Super? That’s easy. Gravy. A huge bowl of gravy would be super.” But I understand that they want me to select a human football team for the upcoming spectacle. So I usually tell them “the Bengals. They’re the only orange cats that can be in the Super Bowl, so it’s like I’m in the game by proxy. I also like the Lions, but I don’t like the Jaguars, because Ziggy looks kind of like a Jaguar. And he isn’t me.” (Unfortunately, none of those teams is competing this year.)
Of the teams who could have been in the Super Bowl this year, I was hoping it would be Atlanta and Baltimore, because they’re both birds (Falcons and Ravens), because I like watching birds. I do that through the window. I really don’t like the 49ers because they’re from San Francisco, and San Francisco is definitely outside. I know that because Mommy and Daddy go there to work, and I once stayed there while they were out of town. I don’t know where Baltimore is, so maybe it’s inside. It might be behind the couch. No one knows what’s back there.
I also don’t like any of the horse teams. This isn’t just because of the speciesist claims that cats don’t like horses. Some of my best friends are horses, if by “some” you mean “none” or by “horses” you mean “human slaves.” But horses are just unnatural. Look at them, they have hooves, and they’re weirdly shaped, and their heads are really long. Remember the immortal words of Snookums Steinem: A kitty needs a horse like a fish needs to not get eaten by a kitty.
But back to the Super Bowl. I love the Super Bowl. It’s the one day of the year that humans really listen to my teachings. You sit on your butts, watch other people run around, and you eat food that’s covered in gravy or barbeque sauce, which, let’s be honest, is basically just another kind of gravy. It’s easy to get scritchies on Super Bowl Sunday. Just walk into the living room, and Mommy and Daddy will be on the couch and recliner watching the game. If I want privacy, I can go anywhere in the house. No one tries to bump me from the Mommy Pillow on Super Bowl Sunday.
If a cat’s humans care about either team playing in the game, it can be less fun. A human who’s more focused on the game is a human who isn’t giving enough scritchies. My humans are fans of teams in something called “the AFC West,” so I’ll never have that problem, they tell me. But if your humans do like the Niners or the Ravens, there are other things to enjoy about the game itself. I’m a big fan of football. When you look at the television with football on, there’s a lot of lateral movement and colorful things chasing across the screen.
But I also like the violence. Human football is like a training academy of things to do to Ziggy when Mommy and Daddy aren’t looking. It’s like a three-hour training film of ways large cats can beat up on smaller cats, and how to smack around people you’ve taken to the ground. We all know that cats are better apex predators than humans, but football players come pretty close. And when they do a particularly hard or brutal hit, the television repeats it over and over, so you can really watch the technique.
What’s not to love?
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