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In case you missed my recent revelation: I have a Cat who has managed to improve its odds with regards to the nine lives theory.

Quick recap:
1. Jonathon gets Cat  Cat gets Jonathon.
2. Cat wants a slice of Py and bites the hand that needs it.
3. Py unsuccessfully attempts to remove Cat’s head from Cat’s body to prevent complications.
4. Complications occur, as Cat comes back and promptly proves it has  – well – joined the ranks, by surviving a fatal car crash.
5. Cat therefore cheats death (again) and wins, paws down.

Now, I mentioned my objection to pets (and people) generally is that in the greater scheme of things, they don’t last long enough to bother with.   I mean – they just start getting interesting, or you just start getting used to having them around, and the fuckers will up and die on you.


The Cat has kind of addressed this problem itself.   And no-one can say the little bastard isn’t getting interesting…

So it pretty much has become a permanent fixture around here – in every sense of the word.   Whatever.   It lives (so to speak) under the kitchen dresser during the day, and leaves small drained corpses of previously scampering or fluttering things around the house at night.  

Speaking of which, last night I was helping myself to my home stash of the good stuff from my ‘shopping spree’ the other evening (I told you – snaplock bags are fucking brilliant things), when the Cat springs through the window like a fucking slingshot and sits on the sink.   I snip the plastic corner off the bag and empty most of the contents into a mug and chuck it in the microwave on low for a sec.

The bloody Cat is still looking at me.

Okay – I’ll bite.   “What?   What the fuck do you want?”

The Cat tips its head to one side a bit, and looks harder.   The microwave says “Ping” with enthusiasm.

I take out my dinner and look at the mug, and the leftovers dripping a little from the bag on the bench, and the Cat eyeballing me from the sink.

And then I look down at the bowl of water on the floor that has been untouched for days now.   Oh.

When I’ve emptied and re-filled the bowl with something more palatable, the Cat jumps down from the sink, and we have dinner together.

Afterwards? – I watch an episode of True Blood, and the Cat cleans the red off its whiskers.





  1. A cat always chooses its human, not the other way around.
    Have fun, you have been adopted!

    • I feel the inoperative word there may be ‘human’…

  2. Humans, vampires, etc.
    Cats choose us. It enables their laziness and provides them a certain level of entertainment. It can be fun for us, too. My cat’s nice company.

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