If you could get close enough to me…which is difficult at best…you’d see I’m adorned with the middle aged, single woman’s membership badge…cat hair.
My cat’s name is Puss, because when I named her I had writer’s block. I adopted her from an animal hospital, and they picked her out for me. She had been brought back twice because she doesn’t get along with more than one person at a time. So the animal hospital was looking for someone who lived alone…and inside of 30 seconds, they decided I’d be a pretty good bet.
Cats get a bad rap. Like they’re finicky. Okay, they turn their nose up at food from time to time…how would you feel if everything you ate was Ocean Flavored.
Dogs are much worse than cats. Dogs eat what cats bury…I rest my case. Yes, dogs aren’t finicky, but they’re like a $2 whore…they’ll eat anything.
Cats are pretty clean animals. ‘Course if you had an uncle who washed himself in his own spit everyday, he wouldn’t be thought of as clean, but somehow cats pull it off. And cats don’t usually leave droppings around, unless they’re sick or mad. My cat does that…if I don’t give her enough attention…I get a turd. Aren’t you glad people don’t communicate anger that way? Walk into your office one day and find a turd left by a co-worker. I guess it could be useful…you could tell the bad drivers by the number of turds on their hoods.
Puss likes me to chase her…so I can be seen running around my apartment saying “Where’s the Puss…Where’s the Puss…Where’s the Puss.” She likes to run under things I can’t get under…like the car port.