becoming the most lackluster cat massage therapist in the entire north east.
Jude had done some research and found that a small trade school in Portland, Oregon offered courses in cat massage. Having no desire to actually move to Portland, Jude used his powers of persuasion, as well as a sizeable donation he managed to scrounge up, to convince the program coordinator to allow him to take the classes by correspondence. Learning the curriculum by correspondence had its advantages, most significantly the fact that Jude was never actually required to be in the same room as a cat. You see, while Jude loved the idea of cat massage therapy as a means of revenge against his parents, he truly hated cats and had for nearly all of his life. His mother had owned a little black Siamese which she loved and cared for with far more affection than she had ever shown Jude. In a way, he had a kind of sibling rivalry with the fickle little animal which took every opportunity to prod and bite him. Ironically, the only theatre production his mother ever took him to see was the musical CATS. Even then Jude was certain that he was the only one in the audience rooting for Mr. Mistoffelees to be run over by a car.
His parents were quite dismayed to receive a picture showing Jude graduating from his cat massage therapy program. Jude had hired a professional photographer and gotten all dressed up in gown and hood to pose with his diploma. The photographer had thought him mad.
As one might guess based on his feelings toward cats, though Jude wanted the title and reputation of a cat massage therapist, he had a strong desire to avoid any contact whatsoever with the creatures. So his next ambition was to present himself as the least attractive cat massage therapist he could be. His first task was to size up the real cat massage therapists in town. Returning to the yellow pages, Jude was shocked to find that there were no fewer than fifty-one cat massage therapists listed in the greater Boston area. Immediately, this worried him. Was there some incredible yuppie demand for cat massages in Massachusetts? Investigating further, he found that most major cities had few or no cat massage therapists. Are pet owners going to be knocking down my door day and night? No, he thought. This was indeed a crowded marketplace, but he had a plan.
First, Jude found the perfect spot for his shop. It was in an old three-story office building in a slum adjacent to a sewage treatment plant. The building was surrounded on all sides by a parking lot that was littered with old cigarette butts, needles and shards of broken glass. Jude affectionately called it the “cat gauntlet”. When he first visited the place and met the owner, he noticed a large sign that read “CONDEMNED” in big block letters on the front of the building.
“The building is condemned?” he had asked the burly, unshaven cigar crunching landlord.
“Nah, the sign’s feh the pa-king lot,” he replied snorting in its direction.
“How can you condemn a parking lot?”
“Huh…what do I look like to you, an u-ban planna?”
Jude was satisfied and he snapped a picture.
Although most of the offices in the building were available, he leased a space underneath the boiler room. He sent his parents a picture of this as well. Then Jude came up with a perfect name for his business. Kataclysm. The addition of a K instead of a C despite the obvious allusion to cats was exquisitely bizarre. Also, the fact that the name implied a complete lack of relaxation made it the perfect choice for Jude’s massage parlor. And finally, for the coup de grâce he decided to advertise his services under the category of “pest control” in the Yellow Pages.
Needless to say, Jude didn’t have any income as a cat massage therapist. In fact, it cost him a small fortune to maintain both his office and the secretary he had hired so that he could prove that he was
Jude had done some research and found that a small trade school in Portland, Oregon offered courses in cat massage. Having no desire to actually move to Portland, Jude used his powers of persuasion, as well as a sizeable donation he managed to scrounge up, to convince the program coordinator to allow him to take the classes by correspondence. Learning the curriculum by correspondence had its advantages, most significantly the fact that Jude was never actually required to be in the same room as a cat. You see, while Jude loved the idea of cat massage therapy as a means of revenge against his parents, he truly hated cats and had for nearly all of his life. His mother had owned a little black Siamese which she loved and cared for with far more affection than she had ever shown Jude. In a way, he had a kind of sibling rivalry with the fickle little animal which took every opportunity to prod and bite him. Ironically, the only theatre production his mother ever took him to see was the musical CATS. Even then Jude was certain that he was the only one in the audience rooting for Mr. Mistoffelees to be run over by a car.
His parents were quite dismayed to receive a picture showing Jude graduating from his cat massage therapy program. Jude had hired a professional photographer and gotten all dressed up in gown and hood to pose with his diploma. The photographer had thought him mad.
As one might guess based on his feelings toward cats, though Jude wanted the title and reputation of a cat massage therapist, he had a strong desire to avoid any contact whatsoever with the creatures. So his next ambition was to present himself as the least attractive cat massage therapist he could be. His first task was to size up the real cat massage therapists in town. Returning to the yellow pages, Jude was shocked to find that there were no fewer than fifty-one cat massage therapists listed in the greater Boston area. Immediately, this worried him. Was there some incredible yuppie demand for cat massages in Massachusetts? Investigating further, he found that most major cities had few or no cat massage therapists. Are pet owners going to be knocking down my door day and night? No, he thought. This was indeed a crowded marketplace, but he had a plan.
First, Jude found the perfect spot for his shop. It was in an old three-story office building in a slum adjacent to a sewage treatment plant. The building was surrounded on all sides by a parking lot that was littered with old cigarette butts, needles and shards of broken glass. Jude affectionately called it the “cat gauntlet”. When he first visited the place and met the owner, he noticed a large sign that read “CONDEMNED” in big block letters on the front of the building.
“The building is condemned?” he had asked the burly, unshaven cigar crunching landlord.
“Nah, the sign’s feh the pa-king lot,” he replied snorting in its direction.
“How can you condemn a parking lot?”
“Huh…what do I look like to you, an u-ban planna?”
Jude was satisfied and he snapped a picture.
Although most of the offices in the building were available, he leased a space underneath the boiler room. He sent his parents a picture of this as well. Then Jude came up with a perfect name for his business. Kataclysm. The addition of a K instead of a C despite the obvious allusion to cats was exquisitely bizarre. Also, the fact that the name implied a complete lack of relaxation made it the perfect choice for Jude’s massage parlor. And finally, for the coup de grâce he decided to advertise his services under the category of “pest control” in the Yellow Pages.
Needless to say, Jude didn’t have any income as a cat massage therapist. In fact, it cost him a small fortune to maintain both his office and the secretary he had hired so that he could prove that he was
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