June 27th, 2004

What's New Pussy Cat

You Say Pride; I Say Humiliation or, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Misanthrope - and Slut

The stuff below the cut is relatively raunchy (and very long), so be warned. Likely not very coherent, and lacking a proper climax (in both senses of the term), it is nevertheless, my attempt to make sense - or at least recall - the events of the day.

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In other news, I saw Laura yesterday, as well. She had been intending to go to Peterborough for the day, but her cat - whom she had given to her sister - was not doing well in the new abode. Aparently, the resident cat had not taken kindly to the interlopper and sis wasn't going to put up with any more fighting. Laura called me early Saturday morning and asked if I'd be willing to take him.

Not what I had been expecting.

At some length, I said that, yes, I'd be willing to take him, on a trial basis. On the one hand, there would be that much more cat-shit to clean up; on the other, I have more than once thought Chet might appreciate some company during those hours when I am away. And, pragmatically, if you have to find someone to take care of one cat when you go away (which I seldom do in any case), it probably wouldn't be that hard to find someone to take care of two.

So ... there we are. I am becoming a fucking cat-man.

And life goes on.

Post-scriptum: One (1) large, invading beetle-like insect fell from the author's over-head light on his desk and was slaughtered, post-haste during the composition of this article. I trust the Buddhists among my Gentle Readers will forgive me.
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