The Butt of Despair
Something was different about Sophie last night. After meeting me at the door, she usually does a violently passionate I'm Hungry Dance whereupon she takes a few steps toward the kitchen, but then collapses without warning onto the Sisal rug and starts convulsing in cat-euphoria. She stretches to the right, looks up, reaches toward the couch, curls back up, and suddenly throws herself to the left and stretches out all over again. She stretches, she curls, she gyrates in a manner which I think she finds terribly seductive, she rubs her back aaaaaalllll over that rug, and then she looks at me, as if to say, "I have proven my cuteness. You must feed me now."
But last night I could tell that she was just going through the motions. I opened the door and she was all stretch-stretch, wiggle-wiggle, stare. But I could see in her eyes, in that mechanical stare, that there was the violent hunger-passion had been overcome by something much darker.
It's not that she wasn't hungry. She is ALWAYS hungry. I served her the usual wet food/dry food dinner combo and she scarfed it down as normal. As she ate I went about other cat-care maintenance and then I sat on the couch and opened up a Cooking Light magazine. She jumped on my lap and started cleaning herself. When she was finished she butted her head into one of my hands holding the magazine. It was a sad, sad butt. It was the butt of despair.
She just sorta ran her head into my hand and stopped. My hand completely covered her face. If she were a self-made man, this would have been the moment where she lost all her fortune on her gambling addiction and came home to an empty house, found a corner, and slumped down to cry in it while nobody was looking. I think the lonliness finally got to her.
Fortunately, she's just a cat. After a roudy thirty minutes of "catch the plastic twisty-thing", she was too tired to remember about the loneliness and was back to her normal self - re-cleaning herself on the Sisal rug, ignoring me. Cats are easy to cheer up. Wonder if that plastic twisty-thing trick will work on my dad...
But last night I could tell that she was just going through the motions. I opened the door and she was all stretch-stretch, wiggle-wiggle, stare. But I could see in her eyes, in that mechanical stare, that there was the violent hunger-passion had been overcome by something much darker.
It's not that she wasn't hungry. She is ALWAYS hungry. I served her the usual wet food/dry food dinner combo and she scarfed it down as normal. As she ate I went about other cat-care maintenance and then I sat on the couch and opened up a Cooking Light magazine. She jumped on my lap and started cleaning herself. When she was finished she butted her head into one of my hands holding the magazine. It was a sad, sad butt. It was the butt of despair.
She just sorta ran her head into my hand and stopped. My hand completely covered her face. If she were a self-made man, this would have been the moment where she lost all her fortune on her gambling addiction and came home to an empty house, found a corner, and slumped down to cry in it while nobody was looking. I think the lonliness finally got to her.
Fortunately, she's just a cat. After a roudy thirty minutes of "catch the plastic twisty-thing", she was too tired to remember about the loneliness and was back to her normal self - re-cleaning herself on the Sisal rug, ignoring me. Cats are easy to cheer up. Wonder if that plastic twisty-thing trick will work on my dad...
posted by Myasorubka at 12:03 PM
4 Comments:
I've attempted to prove my cuteness many a time by stretching, curling and rubbing myself on things, but now I realize the secret cuteness factor lies is in the gyrating. Note to Self: Gyrate more. PS Note to Self: Drink more.
I'll give you multiple-choice comments. Choose the one you like and ignore the others.
A) At first I thought "Butt of Despair" was a Kirstie Alley reference.
B) Did you microwave for the full 5 seconds? Because she will know if you got impatient and hit the button after 4.5 seconds.
C) I better be invited to the drinking and gyrating party.
I was directed to this blog about a cat. Since my daughter has a cat, which she thinks is unique and does strange things like eat lasagna, I now can conclude this cat you write of is not so unique. I have come to believe cats are smarter tahn people. Why else would they domesticate us so well. I hope next Sunday the owners of this feline return to their job of caring and spoiling their cat so that you can use the half hour you invested in playing with the cat more productive like raising tomatoes. You are right this is a unique cat: she has trained two owners and the couple living in the other duplex. If I was that smart, I would have the mayor of LA waiting on me! Alas, I am a lowly human not a cat.
Sadly it is true; we are all trained by the lovely feline. Dad looks like you are under her spell. took a blog entry about a cat to spur my father into blogging action; I guess this means the pressure is on for me to have my own. Stay tuned this could get interesting.
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