Cat Walk

A cat walked in to a bar.

"We don't serve cats," the barman said.

"I don't want to be served a cat. I want to book a table."

This was different. "Book a table? People normally walk in here and drink."

"Yes, I want to book a table. My human turns 21 in 21 days, and I want to give her a party."

"That's thoughtful of you."

"Yes. My human is my mews. So I must keep her happy," the cat replied, with a chuckle at his own wit.

The table was duly booked. That challenge done.

The cat then walked in to the printer's shop.

"We don't serve cats," the printer said.

"Ho-hum here we go again. I don't want to be served a cat. I want to print invites."

This was different. "Print an invite? Nobody prints invites any more. They just email them."

"Yes, But I don't have a computer or a smart phone, and my human turns 21 in 20 days."

So, the invites were designed and printed.

The cat then walked in to the bakery ...
The decorators' ...
The gift shop ...


"We don't serve cats here," each one said.

The cat got tired of repeating himself but he did so love his human, he worked without a paws. (Ha ha, now I'm making puns.)

For twenty one days, the cat was busy, walking in at places, inviting friends.
He took the printed invites to the friends in person. I mean, in feline.
He took the printed invites to the friends in feline.

Finally, the birthday arrived.

And you know what?

The humans drank themselves drunk.
Not only that, the barman was so impressed with the cat's efforts, he allowed the cat to get drunk, too. That was mews-sick to his ears.

That's what happens when a cat walks in to a bar.

MEWS-SICK.