Flu Thoughts on Alligators & Cats

Munching on pizza tonight in front of the local news, one story perked my virus numbed senses up. Seems Maine game wardens were tipped off to the presence of an univited and illegal guest up to "The County" in a town called Monticello, Maine. Yes, we have a Monticello also. I don't think Mr Jefferson had anything to do with it's creation, and I am pretty sure no buildings there were his handiwork. But we have a Monticello too. In your face Virgina.

Anyway, seems a young fellow had been keeping a 3 foot alligator in his terranium. Being 20 years old, he thought this was cool. So he posted some images on the internet. Imagine his surprise when game wardens knocked on his door and asked if that alligator had a permit. Some good citizen somewhere out in the WWW ether had dropped a dime on him. Apparently only alligators with the proper credentials can visit our fair state.

Coming on the heels of more news about a recent triple homicide in OOB, this story was just the right counter to the sadness and waste of a son gone over the edge. As I listened to the blow by blow, my flu infested cranium conjured up a damn silly image of an Alligator found in Maine in the winter.

I imagined an alligator sportin Bean boots, a Red Maine hunting hat with custom tied fishin flies danglin off it and a polar fleece hoodie with the hood pulled down so's it wouldn't crumple the the look or posture of the hat. In his craw a huge pipe stuck out. His sunglasses were perched up on the brim of his hat. And he was grinning.

This disguise might of worked had he not grinned. No Mainer worth his salt would be caught dead smiling for any Kodak moment. Least ways not a picture sure to be seen by folks from away. The tourist trade up here might take a serious hit if them folks from Mass and New York thought we was friendly. We have worked hard for that crusty old salt image. The tourists expect it, and we do our best to deliver.

The image got sillier the further it fell into that void I call my brain. I lingered on it until the last thing I thought of was him getting pinched standing out on the Maine Turnpike with his thumb out. On the Southbound side of course. The bonehead was on the wrong side of the toll booths. The thumb thing got me all confused. I couldn't decide if what alligators had on their feet passed as digits like thumbs, fingers, or toes or were they just claws and then my manic moment was over. I had to get up and close the pizza box before Fernando El Magnifico found the pizza on one of his illicit recons across the stove.