Don’t get all excited – it wasn’t the real  Jeopardy. It was just an early computer version of the TV show, and I got beaten by…a cat. It was a real cat. A real mean cat. You can’t wait to hear about this humiliation, can you? Well, I am nothing if not eager to please. Yes. So here goes.

    To set the scene, let us cast our minds back to the early 80’s, those innocent, halcyon days when floppies were 5½ inches square and actually "floppy; when none of us had hard drives; when there was virtually no Internet – at least not for the likes of you and me; and when monitors were huge, but their screens were tiny and monochromatic – often orange on black. (And "mobile" phones were toted around in small suitcases and had a range of up to 200 yards if there were no walls, trees, windows, dogs, birds or raindrops in the way; but I digress.)

    I had offered to pet-sit for my friends Mr. and Mrs. S. At the time, they had two dogs and a cat. The dogs were wonderful – a charming, stately airedale and a sweet, kindly black poodle-mix. The cat was a demon on assignment from one of the rougher neighborhoods in Hades. He was coal black except for one white whisker. Mr. and Mrs. S. had acquired him as a kitten shortly before their marriage. As they were leaving the pet store with the kitty nestled on Mrs. S’s shoulder, Mr. S swears the kitten drew himself up to glare back at Mr. S. as if to say "Back off, dude – she’s MINE now." Or words to that effect. And it was true. He was a mama’s boy from day one. And ONLY a mama’s boy. He tolerated Mr. S but anyone else, not so much. He once went from a seated position 5 feet away to flying that 5 feet upward and forward to bite a woman in the butt, all in one smooth, continuous movement. 

    In fact, the cat was the reason I was pet-sitting – every single kennel in the area (and it was a big area) had cordially requested that he never return. Seriously – he was blacklisted! The last time he had been boarded, he had hissed and howled the entire week, and wouldn’t let anyone near his cage (the notation on that kennel's card was the understatement of the year - it read "does not board well"). When a good friend of Mr. and Mrs. S ill-advisedly went to pick him up in anticipation of their homecoming, the cat ripped his arm to shreds when he tried to get him out of the cage. "Mommy" was the only one who could do that. When told that I was to pet-sit, the friend was heard to mutter that he hoped my health insurance was paid up.

    This cat was as smart as he was evil. He learned to do his business in the commode, for instance (although they could never get him to flush), and he could open cupboard doors.  Mr. and Mrs. S started to stick a wooden spoon through the door handles of the lower cupboards when they left for the day. He learned to remove the spoons, and then open the cupboards. In the end, they had to attach the spoons to the door handles with rubber bands. That worked. Unfortunately, they had been in a hurry to leave and had forgotten about the rubber bands. When I arrived to take up residence for the week, the spoons were on the kitchen floor. So were the contents of every box of cereal from the cupboards, mixed with the bag of dry cat food. No doubt all three animals had wolfed down as much as they could before I got there, but even so, there was plenty left. I scooped it all up, bagged it, and proceeded to feed it to them for the next several days, along with their other food. The dogs loved it. The cat, not so much. He glared at me malevolently every time I entered a room, and I knew he was plotting his revenge. I wasn’t too worried about it, though. Big mistake. That first night, I woke up because I couldn’t breathe. The cat was draped across my neck – I swear he was trying to suffocate me; his loving mother assures me to this day that he was only being affectionate. In fact, if Mrs. S ever reads this post, she will no doubt rush to her baby’s defense, though he has long gone to his reward, and swear he was a perfect angel. Mr. S, however, will assure one and all that I speak the truth. Yes. Well. Let’s press on.

    I did not have a computer at the time, but they had a top-of-the-line Compaq Deskpro with all the bells and whistles, and they had GAMES. I was in heaven. Mr. S and I had a running battle over high scores in Jeopardy!ä , a perennial favorite. I would play whenever I was over there, and then compare my scores with his. Naturally he was winning, because he was really good, and because he had constant access to the game; but I figured that with an entire week, I could really make my score climb, so I played a LOT. The cat would jump to the top of the high bookshelf on the wall about 6 feet behind me, and bore holes in my back with his eyes while I played, but I learned to ignore him. To my sorrow, I actually came to forget he was always there, lurking above and behind me.

    It was a simple game back then, with few graphics and no sound to speak of. It was basically just answers flashed on the screen, with a time limit for giving the correct question when it was your turn. I played for hours, and I was smokin’ hot. My score had surpassed all the high scores by day three, and I was headed toward the million-dollar mark. I was tired, but I wanted to hit a million, so I played long into that night. Finally, I was a cyber-millionaire, and I was getting ready to quit. With this game, you quit by hitting the "q" key, as is still often the case. However, the game also had one weird option – if you hit the "escape" key, the board would clear, all scores would be reset, and the whole game would start over from scratch. Mr. S had warned me never to touch the "escape" key.

    Are you sensing that this will end in tears?

    Before I had time to quit the game, the cat sailed off the bookshelf through 6 feet of air, landed on the desk, reached out one delicate paw, and firmly pressed the "escape" key. No other keys. Just the "escape" key. The screen went black. He gazed up at me. Did you know that cats can laugh? I didn’t - until that moment. Then he jumped off the desk and swaggered out of the room.

    And that’s how I lost on Jeopardy!ä. I told you it was humiliating.