Day 347: Descendant Of Chester

They’re like Cheetos, but 50 times better!


Maybe like 52 times better.

This is the way.

I couldn’t believe that she had never had Baked Cheetos before. I mean, yes, okay, I can see why she hasn’t. The bag looks unappealing and just screams “disappointing diet product that you’ll pretend to like until you realize that you’re not actually losing weight”. I mean, who makes a Cheeto bag beige? Asshole ad men that target middle class housewives, that’s who. After a few, she was as hooked as I was. Before we knew it, the bag had been demolished. Because we’re not on a diet. We just love non-greasy snacks.

Willy hopped up on the couch to see what we were watching. Wrestling again. He rolled his kitty eyes, perched on Rachel’s arm rest and stared at the wall. She reached in to pet him, but her fingers were covered in Cheeto dust. He relented with fury, turned around to swat her, but got distracted. His nose perked up. Something smelled interesting. He curiously licked her finger and let the taste linger.

Then he licked again.

And again.

And again.

Before we knew it, he had licked her hand clean. Out of morbid curiosity, I offered my cheesy fingers. Same result. Afterwards, he darted around the living room at a speed we had never seen before. On the bed, off the bed, jumping to every scalable platform and playing with toys that he had neglected for months. After about 15 minutes, he tired himself out and retired to the bedroom.


I knew it was too late to be snacking, but I did it anyway. I ate a few handfuls of Cheetos and saw Willy appear at my feet, with his kitty eyes pleading with me.

Okay, you can lick them off, but you can’t wake up Mom.

He didn’t seem to understand.

Promise me that you won’t wake up Mom.

Still no response.

Okay, good enough.

As soon as the dust hit his tongue, he darted into the bedroom, where I heard a loud rustle and a groan. Then the thud of his body falling down to the floor. Willy walked back out sheepishly, knowing that he messed up.

What did I tell you?


It was a rainy afternoon. I had the place to myself and settled in to watch, you guessed it, more wrestling. But of course, not without a bag of Baked Lays, because apparently this household is a shill for Baked Frito Lays products. Willy was sleeping peacefully in bed, but as soon as I opened the familiar crinkly bag, he went sprinting to me. But when he saw that my fingers were not orange, he gave me an annoyed look and went back to bed.


So how exactly does this thing work?

You tell me, I can’t read.

She handed me the 23andmeow box and I tried to decipher the instructions. Since he was a stray runt, Rachel wanted to get a DNA test for Willy. I never really saw the point in it, as neither of us can even name a single cat breed. But it’s her money, she can do whatever she wants with it. The 23andmeow instructions have a cartoon cat licking the test stick. He looks so happy licking the stick. Almost too happy. I guess it’s because he’s finally going to know who his father is.

I guess he just licks the stick? And then we put the stick in the tube and I’ll mail it back tomorrow?

Fair enough. Willy!

After a few calls, he tiredly made his way to the living room. He sniffed the stick for a good minute, but wanted nothing to do with it. He was nothing like the cartoon cat. I wondered why they wouldn’t make the stick actually appealing. If the cat won’t lick the stick, the test just doesn’t work. That’s a huge oversight on 23andmeow’s end. Or maybe they did it on purpose so people would buy the test but they wouldn’t have to do as much work.

Regardless, I had an idea.

I grabbed a bag of Baked Cheetos and ate a few. Willy was intrigued. Then I hid the stick in my hand, ready for the switcheroo. Lo and behold, I was able to trick him into licking the stick while cleaning the dust off my fingers. Bingo.

He ran into the bedroom and we heard an unusual noise. It sounded like a mixture between a burp and a growl. We went over to see what the hubbub was, but he was just chilling. Content and happy.


We spent days musing about what the test results would be. She thinks that he’s the descendant of lions.

Just look at him. He looks very lion-y. The way he sits.

I get that, but I would say he sits noble-y. I’m willing to bet that he’s royalty of some sort. Just look at him, he’s pre-conditioned to be sitting on the side of a throne.

We went back and forth forever, gawking at him and coming up with potential backstories. His uncle was the MGM logo. His mom was a fighter pilot. His cousin lived next to Jim Davis. His great great grandfather invented scratching up furniture. All the while, he just stared back at us, bored and wondering why we weren’t eating Cheetos.


I can’t believe you tricked him into wearing sunglasses!

I didn’t do that, I thought you did.

I…didn’t…I mean, he looks cool!

Really cool!

So where did he get them? Are they yours?

Do you THINK those would fit THIS face?


I tried taking them off and he just swats at me.

Dude just likes being cool, I guess.


What was that?

I didn’t say anything.


I taught Willy a new trick. Or at least, I think I taught it to him. Whenever he licks the Cheeto dust, he stands up on his back legs and struts around like a human. It’s the cutest goddamn thing you’ve ever seen. But every time I try to take a video of it, I get flagged for copyright infringement. But I swear, it’s a thing he does. His purring has also drastically changed. It doesn’t sound catly, but moreso manly. And he still won’t take the sunglasses off. He really freaks out when we try to touch them. It’s just…kind of a thing now.


After 5-7 weeks, the 23andmeow results arrived in our mailbox. When we got into the apartment, it seemed that Willy had already made himself comfortable. He was sitting in the couch upright with his gut hanging out. He was watching some skateboarding video and had somehow gotten into a bag of Cheetos. I didn’t even think we had Cheetos in the apartment. I hurriedly opened the envelope but I couldn’t decipher the results. “Decipher” isn’t the right word. “Comprehend” or “believe” would be much more appropriate. Hands trembling, I read it over and over.

What does it say?

This…this can’t be right. I think we fucked up.

Fucked up how?

It says that he’s…that his grandfather was…Ch—-Ch—-

Spit it out!

But before I could, Willy interrupted. He cleared his throat.

It ain’t easy…being cheesy.

– TeeCoZee