Become a Bazillionaire by Teaching Your Cat to Talk

Scientist Cat

I have no qualms with people obsessed with becoming bazillionaires. It’s just that they work so hard to make the cash. Why spend all your time and effort creating a new technology or becoming a highly-skilled doctor, when all you have to do is teach your cat to talk?

People who make the big bucks make me chuckle. They work tirelessly, train endlessly and usually die prematurely. In the end, they have a pile of money that their heirs get to waste on drugs and the Home Shopping Network.

It really doesn’t have to be that hard. There are all types of opportunities sitting out there, right in front of your nose. Like teaching a cat to talk.

Why bother to teach a cat to talk? I have two words for you, my friends: YouTube.

Yes, YouTube, where every fourth video is about a cat. Or a dog. Or a cat smacking a dog upside the head. But lots of cats.

The cats who are distinctive get the most views. I’ve seen cats playing ping pong, cats balancing on bowling pins, even a cat who made an omelette.

Lots of views mean lots of potentially advertisers who want to hop on your kitty bandwagon. The problem with the ping-pong player or the bowling pin balancer is that they’re both one-hit wonders. It’s their 15 seconds of fame, and poof, they’re gone.

But if you could teach a cat to talk, there would be endless potential. TV talk shows. Movies. HBO miniseries. Maybe even the opera if the cat got really good.

Readers may think this idea rather absurd, but think about how much money we pour into R&D at major corporations. What if just a fraction of that money were spent on a cat speech pathologist? I decided to give it a go.

From “Meow” to “Matzo Ball”

Funny muzzle of gray cat in sunglasses

I hire a woman named Kimmy, and make her promise not to make fun of my idea. In return, I promise not to make fun of her name.

Kimmy begins an extensive training with my cat, Ed. Every day, she works on enunciation and performs mouth exercises. Ed doesn’t even blink.

Weeks pass. Months pass. Then, one day, a breakthrough. Kimmy calls me to the training room, where old Ed is sitting there with his usual vacant expression.

“Go ahead,” Kimmy beams. “Say it!”

“Matzo ball soup,” Ed mutters. “Please.”

Matzo ball soup! The cat speaks! Kimmy and I embrace, jump up and down. Someone even throws a cartwheel. Then suddenly Ed breaks up the celebration with a louder, more urgent statement:

“Matzo ball soup! NOW!”

We scramble like people who have just heard a cat say, “Matzo ball soup,” and throw a batch together. Soon we’re feeding Ed, who laps it up with his pink little tongue.

I wish I could report a happy ending to my epiphany, but things went decidedly south from here. Why? Because Ed wouldn’t say anything else. Just “Matzo ball soup” and then either “please” or “NOW.”

I realized my miscalculation. Cats can say whatever they want. They’ve always known how to speak. But cats are BORING. They don’t want to say anything. They’d rather just sit and look out the window for 8-10 hours a day.

Ed spoke simply so Kimmy would go away and he could return to his window seat. I know that now, and my epiphany is dead-on-arrival.  Looks like I will come up just short of a bazillion dollars.

Then again, there’s always the pooch…

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Comments

  1. I LOVE this idea. However, here’s the issue: As you pointed out, cats are the new cappuccino, and I am NOT a cat person. Cat’s are also pretty dang smart, and the one I pick would immediately see through me and know that I was using him. In which case, my video would be my cat choice calling me out as a bitch or whore and so I have to think long and hard about whether or not my reputation is in fact worth a gazillion dollars…hmmm…

  2. Hilarious.

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