Thursday, November 16, 2017

THE CAT IN THE ROOM

There are no pets here. Which I regret, because when I was small we had numerous animals. The dogs, of course -- and I am sorry I wasn't kinder to Ladybird, who really was a very loving hound -- the guinea pig (small, black, ate a lot), and cats. The cats were there because we fed them and gave them warmth. Dogs have blind loyalty, but cats are practical realists. Which is a very likable characteristic.

The reason there are no cats here is because it stipulates so on the rental agreement. An exception was made for the old lady who already had one, and when she passed away our landlords adopted her cat, which has now also gone on to better things.

I am quite fond of cats. They are so understandable. Whereas a dog is very much like a cheerful and pleasant idiot. It's not that you never know what's going on in his head, you know it's simple and rather dull.
Me woof. How bone? Hump leg!
Sniff rear ends now.
Stick!

If dogs have any complex thoughts at all, it is to pity us because we do not have wet noses and can't appreciate their smelly things. How sad!
Then they'll slobber to show sympathy.


A cat, however, has investigative curiosity, cynicism, and a psychopathic box thing of monumental proportions going on. Still no ability to formulate any thoughts using correct grammar and complete sentences, but there is something there.


Plus they like comfortable laps. Or shoulders.


The human dwelling is like a giant box enclosing multiple other box-like things of various dimensions, some more boxxy than others, and a number which are only semiboxes or incomplete boxes. There is food, a place to pee, and there is warmth. Things to push off surfaces, other things to unravel or vanquish. Plus fingers and toes which must be bitten.
The resident bipeds are quite eccentric.
And they can open cans.
Round boxes.


It tastes like toes in here.




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