Sometimes, as people with pets are wont to do, I mention my cats. A question sometimes follows: "Oh, how many cats do you have?" It is with great glee and poker-straight face that I answer, "Seven." If I can hold my composure, I glare at my judging prey and say, "What? I live alone, OK? I take care of them. It's not like I'm living in cat shit." They then, a lá Borat victims, have to decide whether to be polite or ask me what the hell my problem is.
Funny, right? Well the joke's on me. For the record, I have two cats. One, this blog's namesake, is a little rascal named Inky. The other, his regal companion Nico. Inky has extra-long black hair, and well, sometimes when he does his business, it gets stuck in said hair. It's gross, I know. But don't assume you know. Don't assume you know until you've knocked on a neighbor's door - as I had to do the other day - to ask him to come outside and help you hold down your cat so you can take the kitchen scissors and give him a "butt cut."
Inky might turning in circles in the shelter by now if it weren't for his adorable, affectionate personality. Nico, on the other hand, has stayed out of trouble. Until, that is, a few nights ago when, asleep in bed, I thought I must be sitting by a babbling brook. Or perhaps it was drizzling outside. Or, maybe, Nico was peeing in one of my expensive, knee-high boots.
Now, when people ask me how many cats I have, I have a different response: "I used to have two, but I drowned them both in the river."
Note: This is a fictional story. I would never, ever hurt any of my dozen cats or get angry when I find their excrement in my shoes.
2 comments:
I CANNOT believe you are actually a cat person now...and I am so not anymore, we traded a bit of our personality there.
Me thinks I shall get myself a pet foreigner, and name him Balki, or perhaps Yakov. Depending on what breeder you get one from, as with cats, you can find one free from the 'butt cut' gene. However, one never can genetically cleanse the 'bed pee' gene.
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