Oh please. Like the Sphinx was built by people dedicated to enjoying old myths.
And speaking of the Sphinx, it's been a long time since we conversed with a bored god or goddess here ... and that's what we live for!
So, without further ado, please give a warm and wonderful "Gods Are Bored" welcome to Bast, Ancient Egyptian Goddess of Cats!
Anne: Howdy howdy howdy, Madame Meow! Do you know the difference between a cat and a comma?
Bast: No, dear, I can't say I do.
Anne: A cat has claws at the end of its paws. A comma's a pause at the end of a clause.
(Extended period of hearty laughter from the Goddess Bast. Can't believe she hasn't heard that tired old joke.)
Anne: Goddess Bast, I hope you've been keeping a record of all the sweet little foster kittens I've nurtured into young adulthood for adoption by responsible families.
Bast: I keep a better record of it than you do. You can't even remember their names. Except for this latest one, Willoughby, who went to live at Woodstock Trading Company.
Anne: Well, I do remember some. This cutie is Casey Jones. Found at age 10 days old, in a box left on the train tracks.
Bast: And let us not forget your two resident cats -- responsibly neutered -- Alpha and Beta. Both of them rescued from hardship! Oh Anne, you are a saint.
Anne: I'll say. Beta leaps on me every morning demanding a full body massage. At 5:30 a.m.
Bast: That is duly noted in my files.
Anne: Bast, with so many Americans bloody nuts about their felines, I don't think you're probably as bored as, say, Chonganda. Or in danger of being warmed out of a job like Sedna.
Bast: I guess you could compare my following to a band that plays college and small theater gigs. Not numerous, but surely enthusiastic.
Anne: As well they should be. Cats rock. Ah, here's my Alpha now, searching for a warm lap. Beta is outside having a difference of opinion with the neighbor animal, Mr. Mistoffeles. The original conjuring cat. Please listen to me and don't scoff. All his inventions are off his own bat. Yo! Bast! T.S. Eliot was an atheist, wasn't he? Is there a possibility that he's in your heaven? All those cat poems...
Bast: He is with me for eternity, surrounded by luscious, purring, fluffy kitty cats. Mr. Eliot is happy as a kitten with three blind mice.
Anne: Now my next question is completely self-serving. I tend toward omnitheism, the belief in every God and Goddess that ever was and ever will be. As such I feel I'm hedging my eternal bets, hoping to be warmly welcomed in many heavens by many different deities. Can I count the Egyptian pantheon among them?
Bast: Are you serious, Anne? You raise animal shelter kittens, you pamper your own rescue cats... and you worship vultures. We're waiting for you! Come and visit for a few days or forever. All your foster kittens will be there, Alpha and Beta will be there, your cat from your teen years, Ozzie, is already there, and the barn cat you loved named Dusty is your guardian cat even now. You are aces with the Egyptian pantheon. Trust me.
Anne: Comfort, comfort, o feline. Say, Bast, there's a whopper of a cat show this weekend over in Cherry Hill. Why don't I pull out the sleep sofa and put you up for the night. We can go to the show together!
Bast: Thanks for the offer, but I'm exhibiting several extraordinary kitties, so I'm staying at the hotel.
Anne: Geez, I'd hate to be competing for a blue ribbon against the Goddess Bast.
Bast: Yeah, it's pretty much pointless. See you in Egyptian Heaven, Anne.
Anne: Not soon, I hope. But in good time. 'Cause I'd be happy enough there. For real.