May 29, 2003

Pass me a glass of Bacardi, and allow me to explain

(Note to the few who have not yet had the privilege of Chez Rites: my cat and I have an agreement. I operate the can opener, break the seal on the cat biscuits, make sure there’s fresh water available, share my Egyptian Cotton bed, and change the cat litter just before it fights back. In return, she agrees to only take off the top layer of skin when she plays with me. I, my cat, and the Jumbo “Accident-o-Prone TM” box of BandAid are very happy, thank you.)

Normally, the only thing that would entice her to my side of the bed during the warm months would be (in order of decreasing likelihood):



  • a fundamental localised shift in the space time continuum, occurring in my bed (although I have been told by select intimate partners that this has happened to them at that exact spot – it’s just that the cat has retreated by that stage to where she won’t get wet. Or be hit by flying latex. Hey – it’s hard work shifting someone’s continuum.)

  • the silver paper wrapped around a slab of Cadbury’s chocolate.

  • The synchronised occurrence of a sudden metrological cold front, an electric blanket on maximum, and me pretending not to see her chasing those elusive bed mice.

  • Restraints (on her). A cattle prod. And a Southern Baptist Minster.


Nonetheless – it’s winter, and she’s gone South.

(We’ve all heard the story of Sisyphus, doomed and forever defeated in his attempts to push a boulder up a hill. I belive future generations will convey the same sense of futility and personal injury potential by glibly saying “Remember: you can’t put a cat in a box.”)

Although it’s strange – when I was younger I used to be allergic to cats. Not to this one it seems. I can play with her all day, and not sneeze once (although the light-headedness and blurred vision due the bloodloss from the, ahem, ‘scratches’ tends to overpower all other ailments.)

Ah. She’s watching me write this. I know this without looking down at the keyboard because of the biting pain in my right hand and the furry feeling on my arm.

Gotta go.

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