The Drunken Cat has never had the time to really stop and smell the roses, but given the fact that he is deathly allergic to pollen, this is a good thing. It is a funny thing to have such gripping, swelling allergies and to be covered with cat dander. But that never stopped him from licking himself. Nothing can stop him from licking himself. Trust me, I've spread his entire body with ipecac in hopes that the foul taste would stop him, but he just slurped it up, turned green, vomited, and then repeated the whole process.

Being a contradiction to his very core, The Drunken Cat hasn't taken a drink since January 1st, 2006 (as of the date this book has gone to print; he could start all over again any minute now), and he may not even be a cat. Though vets have done what they can to confirm his genetic disposition, all are boggled by how a cat can know so much about Parcheesi and orange soda. Most shocking, however, is the fact that he might not even be The Drunken Cat, at all. The latest U.S. census revealed that there might be as many as seventy eight hundred thousand million drunken cats in Rhode Island alone.

Having been born into a litter of eight on April Fool's Day in the alley behind Chyun Wok's Mandarin Feast, The Drunken Cat narrowly escaped being the main ingredient in a loosely defined General Tso's "chicken" dinner. Indeed, he saved his entire family from this fate by using his wit, cunning, and a fifty dollar bill. To celebrate not having their flesh consumed by a portly patron, The Drunken Cat bought his youngest siblings some gloves.

But the kittens lost their mittens, so The Drunken Cat bought them new ones and stapled those to their little paws.

Life isn't easy for an alley cat, and The Drunken Cat has had many odd jobs. He has found work as a tailor and launderer at a nudist camp, as a raisin inspector, and as an armpit model. He also had a brief stint as a professional wrestler, playing a character known as Urinalysis Exam. He wore a diaper and a pink mesh halter top that left his stomach exposed and fought in thirty eight consecutive matches, winning only the hearts of the audience as he wept openly about world hunger and baby seals. He was eventually forced to leave the ring forever when the commissioner discovered he was reading books and could tell time on clocks with hands.

The Drunken Cat was taken in by Brian Canini when Brian found him searching a dumpster for food. Finding happiness with Brian and David Grant, Canini's roommate, and being given a job as the spokescat for Drunken Cat Comics, The Drunken Cat became so overjoyed that he wrote the following poems about his new friends:

Brian

Bicycles
Running
Into
A
Nun

 

David

Dynomite
And
Valium
Invite
Death

He has a paralyzing fear of goats, white cheeses, carpeting, and toasters, all of which he developed after an accident involving a ferret and an orange traffic cone.

Trying not to die, The Drunken Cat avoids death on a daily basis by not dying.

Contact:
dgrant@drunkencatcomics.com
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