Kitty Blog Post
Attention, kind readers:
So, it starts out looking like a kitty blog post but then she careens wildly into off-road territory, which probably needs to happen a hell of a lot more around these parts. Word.
Blogging about cats is only marginally less pathetic than actually thinking what I think about them and, as they say in the little clubhouse I go to, you're only as sick as your secrets.
The cat facts are this: I did not like them at all until I turned twenty. Maybe getting married at that exact age to someone whose sense of completion was more intact by pummeling his astonished bride on a nearly daily basis whittled down my objections. POW. Here kitty, nice kitty. POW.
I did the cat math. Not a coincidence. She was a tortoiseshell, too. I named her Patches because it suited her and - oh man I'm bad - because my then husband had a bit of a lateral lisp and it was funny to hear him say it.
Pawsive aggressive? Upon reflection, perhaps.
This kitty right here, Miss Mitzi, has never seen her mommy bloody flying across the room. CATerwauling, as it were. She's never even seen her mommy high. Oh she suffers. Just in another way. You may surmise from her expression: she endures her human caregiver referring to herself - incorrectly, laughably, lamentably - as Mommy. Her forbearance is impressive. Too, I bring her other creatures to bathe and I brush her and cut her long hair just so.
And, in return? She mostly pisses where she's supposed to.
"Don't judge books by their covers and, for God's sake, don't judge cats by their mothers."
LBA, 2016
So, it starts out looking like a kitty blog post but then she careens wildly into off-road territory, which probably needs to happen a hell of a lot more around these parts. Word.
Blogging about cats is only marginally less pathetic than actually thinking what I think about them and, as they say in the little clubhouse I go to, you're only as sick as your secrets.
The cat facts are this: I did not like them at all until I turned twenty. Maybe getting married at that exact age to someone whose sense of completion was more intact by pummeling his astonished bride on a nearly daily basis whittled down my objections. POW. Here kitty, nice kitty. POW.
I did the cat math. Not a coincidence. She was a tortoiseshell, too. I named her Patches because it suited her and - oh man I'm bad - because my then husband had a bit of a lateral lisp and it was funny to hear him say it.
Pawsive aggressive? Upon reflection, perhaps.
This kitty right here, Miss Mitzi, has never seen her mommy bloody flying across the room. CATerwauling, as it were. She's never even seen her mommy high. Oh she suffers. Just in another way. You may surmise from her expression: she endures her human caregiver referring to herself - incorrectly, laughably, lamentably - as Mommy. Her forbearance is impressive. Too, I bring her other creatures to bathe and I brush her and cut her long hair just so.
And, in return? She mostly pisses where she's supposed to.
"Don't judge books by their covers and, for God's sake, don't judge cats by their mothers."
LBA, 2016
posted by Dustin at
2:29 PM 
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