Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Friday, April 18, 2008

Old Lady Love

So yes. Four days with almost no-one to talk to but two overly-attentive cats has given me a troubling insight into my future. You know, I actually went out for a book of stamps to at least talk to a human being yesterday. All I need now is the sagging cardigan to match my backside and we're done here.

Still, in a predictable old lady way, I can at least say the cats are adorable. I haven't had cats in years, not since moving in with a lesbot who are always guaranteed to have a couple en suite. Those two also practiced the highly-evolved cat behaviour of 'Tag Team Love', where one is always all over you, the other one stays at an aloof distance with a look of 'see what you have to work towards here' in their eyes. And this is why I love cats - their love is not unconditional. It's not even conditional. Its a barely-hidden tolerance that ramps up towards a physical affection as soon as you do something for them.

Hm. Apparently your ideal pet also describes your ideal partner. Even more spooky, viewers, was as I wrote that line, The Avalanche's 'Frontier Psychiastrist' just popped up on my playlist, where the line "That boy needs therapy!" is repeated over and over. I think The One True God Cher is trying to tell me something...

And while I 'puzzle' that one out, I shall divulge one drawback to me having cats: the hair. Not just theirs, mine. It's not really much of a secret that I'm a strategically-shaved monkey and when I have a bath, it tends to look like someone's washed a resistant Alsatian in there. So not only am I shedding (summer coat's coming through), so at the minute are the cats; meaning that wherever I go there's cat hair in my beard, and beard hair in their fur. Hair everywhere! If, heaven forfend, someone has to do a DNA profile on my body, they're going to think I'm some sort of felix erectus with Wiskas cat biscuits on my breath. Although I can explain the last bit quite satisfactorily: last night I came back drunk and this not being my own house, thought that it was cereal. They're not bad with milk, I'll have you know...

Anyway. You know what I mentioned in the last entry about being in someone's abode and walking through their foibles? I thought one of the cats had brought in a dead animal, but it turned out just to be a ladies wig already under the bed. A common mistake in a gay household, I'd wager.

1 comment:

Snooze said...

I can relate about the cat hair everywhere.