Friday, August 18, 2017

SHOWING A POLITE INTEREST IN MY FINGERS

The best way to trap the cat you suspect is watching you when you are asleep is to put a carboard box with a small pillow inside on the bathroom rug. And if you think about it, you will know this is true.
Bathroom. Box. Pillow. Resultantly, a cat.
I do not know why I believe this.
Nor is a cat watching me.

There are two little black cats that live in the shops along Jackson Street, there's an old orange pussy in the grocery at the bus stop where you get off for dim sum, an affectionate raggedy fur ball further down Stockton Street at the dry goods and seafood flavours place, and a stand-offish scooty mouser among the rickety vegetable bins opposite Sai Ping Yuen.

As well as two felines living inside Ping Yuen.
While it's empty during rehabilitation.

Plus a senior entity that stalks the shadows at ankle level on Pacific, just beyond milk tea and pastries.


I don't think the Chinatown Cantonese have realized that cats are primarily useful for being decorative. Cats, to them, are clearly four-legged people, who do their own things and occasionally interact with other people.
And sometimes they eat mice.
Or not.


MEH. IT'S A CAT.

Unfortunately none of the places where I go for milk tea and a pastry or snack have cats. If they did, they couldn't get rid of me. Not that I actually like cats -- there is no cat in my apartment other than the three non-self-mobile creatures mentioned as 'roomies' (see posts which describe the antics of the sock sheep, one-legged gibbon, and control-monkey, or the froad and his bouts of madness) -- nor do I go all gushy around them.
They realize that I know where the scritchy part of the head is.
And I smell interesting, like middle-aged white dude.
Do not bug me, I have a feline on my lap.
No, I don't know why he's there.
Scritch scritch scritch.

I'll be a while.


貓招引財富。
以及老鬼。




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