Posted: 3:56 am
October 6, 2008
GUESS what, animal friends, lovers, fans and freaks: I don't hate cats. Not one whisker.
In fact, I love the little fur balls, though I prefer them steamed or sautéed, rather than deep-fried or poached. And if you can't find the irony in that remark, you deserve to get your ear chewed off by Brigitte Bardot and the rest of the humorless sourpusses and terrorists who populate the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.
Enough is enough! Lately, I've been scorned, maligned, insulted and threatened with bodily torture by animal nuts who would sooner see a child maimed and pummeled to the ground than see a little pussy lose one of his nine lives.
All because I wrote a series of columns chronicling the egregious waste of a trial that clogged a Manhattan court for two solid weeks earlier this month - the felony animal-cruelty case against one Joseph Petcka.
Petcka is a handsome former minor-league pitcher and actor whose IQ, I'm afraid, is just slightly above that of the deceased victim of his drunken rage, Norman the cat.
Rest in peace, Norman. You would not believe the fuss and bother your untimely demise has caused the people of New York.
After five solid days of deliberation following a trial that ate up nearly four days of testimony, the jurors, by an 11-1 vote, could not come to a unanimous conclusion whether Petcka was guilty of a crime. The jurors wound up hung, an ending that, under normal circumstances, would put a smile on their faces.
Meanwhile, people with too much time on their paws and cats on the brain have been screaming for my head and other body parts.
At last count, 854 people signed an online petition excoriating me and demanding I hit the road. Which leads me to one troubling question:
Only 854?
Mom, you're not trying hard enough. Yes, my mother is an animal fan. We haven't been able to hold a civil conversation in weeks.
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