Obligatory Cat Post
So I’ve got these cats, right…
ASIDE: Posting about your cats on the internet is LAME. It’s borderline stupid. It’s just so goddamned cliché. It’s like posting about how much you hate your parents or why you’re a giant atheist. It’s not that you probably don’t have good reasons or intentions, but just that there is very little chance anyone will actually care. This also applies to poetry.
So, these cats. One is a male cat named Sebastian. The other is a girl cat named Viola. They are both black with white faces and paws. Initially they looked identical. Now, Sebastian is like twice the size of Viola so they’re more distinguishable.
ASIDE: I just described the cats instead of posting a picture because, again, people who post pictures of their cats are going down a bad road. It’s like posting a picture of your desktop wallpaper or, worse, a picture of a sunset you ran through a bunch of photoshop filters. All of these things are needless and uninspired.
Viola does the craziest thing. Normally she’s nowhere near as sociable as her brother, but sometimes she just demands attention. And it’s to the point where it’s impossible to deny her, because she will sit on your head if she has to. She will not take no for an answer.
ASIDE: Oh god, what am I doing here? I’m posting about my cats. I’m seriously doing that. I’m posting about my cats and the cute things that they do. That I’m self-aware is no excuse. That’s like being a criminal who is entirely aware of the immorality of his actions. I’m a murderer who is stabbing a guy in the neck, knowing fully well that the man I am stabbing is a perfectly nice man, who also sponsors a child in Africa. There is no excuse for that. None.
So she does this thing, where I will be petting her with one hand and she will be purring and looking happy. But then she’ll start eyeing my other hand with suspicion. Suspicion quickly turns to disdain. “Why aren’t you petting me too?” I imagine her saying, as if cats could talk.
ASIDE: Seriously. The dude gave up a cup of coffee a day to sponsor a starving child and what am I doing? I am stabbing him. In the neck. I’m pathetic. A waste of time and space. Cats! Really.
I’m thinking she doesn’t understand that my hands are actually two parts of a whole. Instead, she sees them as independent beings, both of which are responsible for lavishing upon her indiscriminate attention whenever she determines it necessary.
ASIDE: I’m not even sure where I’m going with this. What’s the goal here? To get people to laugh? To make them say ‘aww’? To amuse and delight? With my stories of cat ownership? What is this? Cat Fancy Magazine? What am I, a sell-out? A sixty-five-year-old woman? A murderer of noble men? I don’t know.
I guess it’s true what they say: you think you’ll just be owning cats, but they end up owning you.
ASIDE: Seriously. Fucking Cat Fucking Fancy Fucking Maga- Fucking -Zine. Fuck.
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