To cats, golf is like stalking a dead mouse, but Cats Working has been getting significant hits on the word tiger lately, so we feel compelled to offer a feline perspective on the Tiger Woods incident.
I was surprised when Tiger obliquely, by his own admission, admitted that he’s a philanderer. That’s assuming his public statement about “transgressions” he regrets with “all his heart” wasn’t referring to forgetting to take out the trash. And I’m betting it wasn’t because he left his socks on the floor that he jumped into his SUV to flee his home in terror at 2 a.m., hitting a fire hydrant and a tree.
Golf is so boring, it’s understandable that marrying a gorgeous young Swedish model can hardly compensate. Tiger pounced on the “variety is the spice of life” cliché to take his mind off the sheer futility of his days on the links.
But now Tiger has unwittingly unleashed a steady trickle of nocturnal bimbo types, dragging themselves out of bed before noon to grab 15 minutes of fame by claiming they slept with him — or didn’t.
Why must you punish us ALL, Tiger? WHY? Wasn’t there anyone classier you could cat around with?
Tiger has asked for privacy to sort things out. I agree he should have it. I’m sick of the sight of him everywhere. It’s not like his inability to keep his pants zipped affects anybody but the people involved. And it’s not as if golf is on most people’s list of what matters.
For all we know, under her stunning exterior Mrs. Woods may be dumb as a golf tee. But now that Tiger knows she, too, can swing a mean club, maybe he’ll have more respect for her.