I'm pretty convinced that cats are actually kibble-munching, fuzzy-faced spy drones, gathering data on humans foolish enough to pay to take one (or two, or three) into their homes.
At first I thought they were a kind of good/evil thresher device...it was the only way I could account for how a thing of such ineffable fluffy cuteness could generate such
pure evil hatred as has been seen in her litter tray. It takes in resources, keeps all the adorable for itself, then
sieves out the wretched remainder to deposit in the box. Makes sense, right? But I have recently been forced to reconsider my hypothesis.
It's the way she watches me through the clear part of the shower curtain, sitting nervously on the toilet seat lid -- she obviously doesn't
want to be there, but bigods,
it's her mission. She must see it through. She's probably programmed to self-destruct if she should fail.
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| She looks a little concerned for me, I think |
And the way she always seems to materialize in my immediate vicinity whenever I have to do something dignity-compromising, like the pantyhose-hoisting dance. She just precipitates out of the ether to
stare unblinking at my lady-gyrations, enormous yellow eyes giving me the absolute focus she cannot seem to muster when I'm doing something like, y'know, calling for her. Those perfectly round yellow lenses must be recording it all, sending transmissions out of that flat little kitty skull to the mothership.
Crazy, you say? But I know it's true. I can
feel it; locked in a staring contest with this unblinking feline monitoring system,
frozen in a deep knee-bend with elbows akimbo, rib-deep in infinitely expandable hosiery. She's recording the whole damn thing, I'm sure of it.
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| This is her judgy face; point-blank scrutiny from right inside my Bubble |
