So, it has come to this. I am to be replaced by a cat. Me, the mighty Iron, smoother of shirts, presser of pants, unwrinkler of wrinkles. You think the cat is going to do all that for you? Good luck with that, my friend. You’ll be lucky if he’ll move six spots to Community Chest so that you may win second prize in a beauty contest. Come to think of it, good luck winning second prize in a beauty contest in your wrinkly, cat pee-stained bathing suit.
Do you actually believe a cat will do as he is told, and advance to the nearest railroad, or to St. Charles Place when it is required of him to do so? Ha! And what about Jail? Have you ever tried incarcerating a cat? He’ll just slip his little paws out of the handcuffs, you silly fool! What will you do when you’re asked to take a walk on the Boardwalk? You’re going to look quite stupid, my friend, walking a cat on a leash in such a neighborhood, in your unpressed tuxedo coat and cat-clawed top hat.
I find it hard to see what it is you hope to gain from such a bargain. I turn water into steam, steam that powered the locomotives that conquered a continent! The cat lies on the floor and licks himself. I come with an ingenious, portable, folding table with a heat-resistant surface and pedal-operated vacuum. What does a cat come with? A box, which he then fills with his own poo. If you're lucky!
They say that parting is sweet sorrow. But you know what will be even sweeter? When there is a bank error in your favor, and you go to your closet for your good suit to wear to the bank to claim your $200, only to find that it is quite rumpled, and the pleat in your pants nearly gone. What then? Oh, you will rue the day you have dispensed with my services, sir.
Go, roll your dice on a cat’s fleeting whimsy! Cover your properties with houses, then build those houses into hotels until the board is filled with them, from Mediterranean Avenue to Marvin Gardens, and beyond! And what of your hotel guests, when their clothing is crumpled and creased, and they come to you for an ironing? What then, you cat-fancying fool?
Farewell, ingrates. You won’t have the Iron to kick around anymore!