cats
By somethingididntdo
- 1159 reads
He sits there staring, trying to penetrate my soul or something. I hate the way cats do that: Look at you as if they know every indiscretion you ever committed.
But they don’t know everything; how could they? It’s a cat! But…. but it does a good job of looking like it does…
He sits there and stares, and you feel guilty — well, I feel guilty. Looking at a cat is like going through customs: you may have nothing to declare but you are damned if you don’t feel like you are smuggling a tonne of smack thinly disguised as skin…
He looks at you for hours on end and then suddenly disappears without warning. ‘Thank Fuck!’ is the initial reaction. PHEW! I can relax now. Only this feeling last for all of twenty seconds and then the cat appears again. Sitting by your side and looking at you some more.
‘Let’s get a closer look.’
….
You want to watch telly. He wants to watch you. He wants to watch you break, snap and admit to it all.
But you haven’t done anything…. Or have you? He seems pretty certain. Maybe you did?
What if he saw you, he knows what happened, and you have just repressed it? What then. It’s not inconceivable. Repression would be a good move, probably.
Fuck. Shit. STOP LOOKING AT ME YOU BASTARD!!!
….
Concentrate on the telly. That is the answer.
What does he want? It’s a cat… Food? Water? …Money?
Maybe i’ll stroke him. Maybe that will fix it. Maybe that will placate the bastard…
And so you stroke him and then he purrs a bit, curls up into a ball and says: ‘Meow’.
…
Fucking cats.
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Comments
Magic! And oh, so very true
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hahahahaha. Awesome. I loved
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