Police Brutality at its Worst
I can’t imagine it’s easy for cops nowadays. Not only is there the constant threat of their own personal safety on a daily basis from criminals, but there is also a civilian distrust of police that seems to be gaining momentum by the day. It is not my place to say how the public’s distrust can be remedied, but there does seem to be a threat to police officers that the media has failed to introduce to the public or at least has been forgotten in the past few years: the threat of good cops being partnered with cartoon cats.
Isn’t that every cop’s worst nightmare? If you were a cop, wouldn’t you wake up every morning thinking, “Is today the day? Is today the day they partner me up with a goddamn cartoon cat?”
You’ve never directly known anyone who had to partner with a cartoon cat, but the worry was always in the back of your head, strengthened further by stories told around the locker room… something about a cop named Ginetti or Buckman from another precinct who always worked alone until the Sergeant told him he got a new partner. You scoffed at the idea on the outside, but inside you knew that you were just as vulnerable to the whims of a sergeant whose hands were tied, especially if the mayor was on his ass.
If the mayor is on your sergeant’s ass, don’t even fight it, because he can probably only buy you about 24 hours to crack the case and you can’t waste a minute arguing with the powers that be.
And God help you if you’re partner has just been murdered. If your partner’s been murdered, then you know you’re in for a shake-up at the station. You hope—nay, pray that maybe a dog saw the crime in action. Maybe even a kid saw the murder and therefore that will be your new partner. Shit, I’ve even seen a cop get paired up with a fuckin’ T-Rex and that still sounds better than a cartoon cat.
And you had a good partner before—a damn good partner. You guys went to the academy together, came up at the same time, patrolling the streets, working your way up from writing out parking tickets to knocking doors down with search warrants, but now he’s dead. He’s fucking dead and now you’re going to be paired up with the fucking cartoon at, you just know it.
Cartoon cats have attitude, that much is certain. Whereas a dog will nonverbally communicate to you and slowly develop a bond and sense of trust, the cartoon cat just rattles off feline puns all day long, wearing his sunglasses and searching for some kind of quick slogan he is praying will catch on at the station and make him popular with the rest of the fellas.
“Where we headed, Mack? Tell me a tail.”
“That’s why they call me ‘Whiskers!’”
“I’m fe-line fine!”
(holding his hand up to your face while you’re talking) “Paws that thought. I think I heard something.”
God, can you imagine being on a stakeout and having to listen to that shit? And if he gets in a tight spot, you know the whole “9 lives” line of jokes are coming; it’s inevitable. How can you keep tabs (or as he would call it, keep “tabby’s”) on your dead partner’s murder suspect with all that verbal cat-scat going into your ear? Do you think the cartoon cat cares that you made a promise to your partner’s widow that you will not rest until the perpetrator is brought to justice? No, he doesn’t care! He’s too busy bitching about how there should be kitty litter boxes in the locker room at the station; he doesn’t give a shit about your goals.
And I know that kind of talk or prejudice about cartoon cats isn’t looked too favorably here in the 21st century and maybe that’s my father talking, but I firmly believe that a cop—a surly detective such as yourself can’t trust a cartoon cat when you’re in a pinch. How can you have a cat policing human beings? It just doesn’t seem feasible to me. And maybe I’m on the wrong side of history here. I hope I am, I really do, but that’s just how I feel.
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