We have a dirty little secret here at the Mansion.
On the back porch deck, under The Pony's bedroom window, sits Catcutta. Once a respectable destination for furry members of the Hillbilly community, Catcutta has fallen into disrepair. No longer do sleek felines stretch and loll on the sunwashed planks of Catcutta's promenade, watching the world pass before them, through one squinting eye.
The modern Catcutta is a cobbled conglomeration of cardboard dwellings, notable only for their varying states of disrepair. The regal feline contingent has been displaced by the unwashed proletariat canines. To be fair, unwashed is not completely accurate. The woofers do seem to regularly clean their nether orifices. Unemployed for most of the day, the fleabags lounge in their corrugated compartments, groggily awaiting the free hors d' oeuvres that are occasionally flung out the kitchen door by Chef Hillbilly Mom.
Slumlord H used to patrol Catcutta regularly, razing damaged dwellings, and replacing those with water impairment or structural weaknesses. Now, the architecture of Catcutta has become a nightmarish eyesore. We avert our glance when passing, as if inattention will make the problem disappear. But the crumbling pillars of Coburn Farms, Fairgrounds, Diane's Garden, and Senora Verde linger.
If Slumlord H continues to neglect his properties, I shall organize a coup. Come Tuesday, when I'm hoping to be home on a snow day, I will instruct my lackey, The Pony, to load up Catcutta, lock, stock, and barrel, and transport it to the land of BARn. There, my second in command, #1, will light it ablaze.
No more Save A Lot boxes will clutter my back porch. The dogs have houses filled with fragrant cedar shavings. They have no need to go slumming in cardboard cartons, breaking down the sides, one for each of them for every day of the week. Enough is enough. If Slumlord H won't burn his cardboard trash, WE WILL. Because this is the country, by cracky! Where we incinerate our paper like nature intended. No landfills clogged with our cellulose overflow.
Sometimes, lightning is a forest's best friend.