Some wise acre once said that if you believe everything you read, you have no business reading. I must add a quick rider, that does not apply to this column.
Now that we have that bit safely out of the way, I know you must have heard that funny saying of the wise. It was long and winding but ended convincing us that a cat, somehow, stuffed its pocket with not two, or three, but a whole nine lives.
If you are a person of slightly above average intelligence, like I am, you must have been agonising about that pretension.
I know where the expression “cat-footed” may have started, which is the fact that if you throw a cat into the air, like was my favourite pastime as a small boy, it will always land on its feet. I can tell you without the fear of contradiction it is all true. But if you want to squeeze in a lie about a cat having nine lives, oh please, tell it to the birds. Or rehearse your lies better.
And even if cats mentioned on oriental tales, like in that weird Jack and the Beanstalk story, would by chance have nine lives, those in Nakuru must be a different breed. At least when they lived.
Knowing how cats can claw and fight and screech, you need nine lives yourself to manage the skill and dexterity of capturing and skinning one.
And a Nakuru bloke has given that nice town a rather strange reputation after he was caught skinning one. It turned out he had skinned about 1,000 others, which he sold to samosa vendors.
How no one noticed is a story for another day.
Of course, how felines supposed to have nine lives ended up being caught and skinned by some bloke who seems like he can hardly beat a tortoise home raises massive questions about the cats of Nakuru.
In short, what they told you in school, and not from any specific text book about the nine lives was a lie. Crap. I hope you didn’t believe it.
And if you did, you may as well believe that the earth is flat, and that what you see as the horizon is the edge of a plate-like feature where we live in.
Now, wags on social media have gone to town with reminders that a dry cell manufacturer in that town, whose logo featured a cat, went out of business because the cats were eaten.
Another rubble-rouser said (with apologies to the fair sex!) it was now clear why women in that town like to catwalk.
And now, to our Members of Parliament. Having worked in that august House some 18 years ago as a senior (focus on senior) parliamentary reporter, I know their canteen is nice. They eat four, five course meals.
We need to reduce that. Maybe that way, the likes of Starehe MP Charles Njagua aka Jaguar and his Embakasi East counterpart Paul Ongili alias Babu Owino will have less energy to engage in catfights. (The cat, again!)
Yes, you heard right. They were at it the other day. And yes, that’s the second time after the circus they treated us to, bear-hugging each other after they fought a few months ago and “burying the hatchet”. They just exhumed it.
I am yet to understand why we did not include in our Vision 2030 blueprint the production of circus antics, spearheaded by some of our parliamentarians.
Talent scouts at 20th Century Fox or Warner Bros must be sleeping on the job if they have not spotted what our MPs can do in the entertainment industry. This country could go places.
I am told the blokes want their canteen upgraded, along with their menu and washrooms. I would not vouch for that idea. If the diet is dramatically improved like they are asking for, what will Babu and Jaguar (the feline again) do next? Can you imagine?
I am wondering aloud now: just what extra curricular activities do they teach our MPs? Martial arts? Or is it the copper and mercury in their tea? Those metals, or are they minerals, can cause people to behave in strange ways, you know…but don’t quote me on that. If you do, I have never met you.
Do have a pleasant, antics-free week.
The writer is Special Projects editor, People Daily.