by Brach O' Lee
Top o' the mornin' to ya! 'Tis St. Patrick's Day, when we celebrate all things Irish--my heritage.
It's not always obvious to people that the blood in my veins is as green as a shamrock. For me, though, the proof is undeniable.
First, there is the color of my fur. While technically, I am considered "buff" in color, I consider my locks to be "strawberry blonde" and I am a member of the Gorgeous Gingers (a street-gang for red-headed cats). Don't all red-heads come from Ireland?
Second, I am a gifted Irish step dancer. No one has ever taught me the art; I was born knowing how to dance a mean Irish jig! When I hear the lilting and sweetly melodic sounds of the fife and fiddle, all four of my legs will suddenly start flailing wildly--without my consent! I'm sorry, but you can not get more authentic than that!
Finally, St. Patrick and I share a common passion: Chasing vermin. While Patrick focused his efforts on snakes, I have an affinity for small rodents and bugs. Either way, my passion for chasing dirty animals (including, but not limited to Kukka-Maria) can be attributed to my Irish heritage.
So, in closing, I couldn't be more Irish if I actually lived in Ireland! I'm a red-headed, step-dancing, street hooligan who loves to chase vermin! The popular Gaelic phrase "Éireann go Brách!" says it all. Loosely translated, it means "Long live the Irish cat named Brach!"
(Editor's note: "Éireann go Brách" actually means "Ireland Forever." Because Brach's loose
BITE ME! NO, YOU'RE NOT!
Are you freaking serious? If you are Irish, I am human.
First off, Brach, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but Mom doesn't even know who your real parents were! She found you at the Humane Society, so your real parents could just as easily be a one-eyed, Russian crack whore and a rabid California mountain lion as they could be of Irish descent.
Secondly, we all know you aren't a natural strawberry-blonde. I've seen the empty box of hair dye in the bathroom garbage can, labeled "Buff." You're not fooling anyone! Even a blind bat could see your roots showing!
As for your Irish step dancing talent? I don't think running scared when you hear the whining of a bagpipe can be called "dancing." Yes, your legs flail wildly, but it's because you have leapt straight into the air and have started running for the bedroom before you feet have even touched the ground!
You may be the size of a wee Leprechaun, but that, my dear brother, is where the similarities end. Now, if you would be so kind as to step-dance your way over to the bed and warm it up for me, I would appreciate it. I'll be over to wake you from your nap and kick you out to make room for me in about 20 minutes.