Window Cats
I love how, after waking me up a full hour before I meant to be up, my cats have totally moved on to hanging out in their respective windows, quietly watching birds. What brats. Jolee is standing up on the chair with his paws on the armrest. Starbuck is perched on top of a couch cushion. I can hear a lot of bird noises outside. Jolee in particular loves this bunch of doves that hang out in the eaves of the house next door in the mornings. If he hears them making their dove noises before the blinds are open, he will hop up next to me on the bed and paw at the blinds until I open them so he can see "his" doves.
My cats are not as aloof as they think they are. For one thing, they have this thing where they have to hang out in the room I'm in. So since I'm on my laptop having coffee, they're in the living room. If I get up and go into the office to play a couple minutes of Oblivion (really, a couple), they'll gravitate in there. And then they'll glare at me if I try to pet them like it's a total coincidence that they're there. OK, fine, when I say "they," I mean Jolee. Starbuck will crawl all over me with her pointy little kitten feet. She doesn't really have that cat resentment thing going on yet-- that dirty look they give you when they're SO BUSY sleeping, licking themselves, staring into space, etc., that they can't be bothered being petted.
Yesterday my friend Marissa ran the Mardi Gras Marathon, and went promptly to Bourbon Street to celebrate upon completing it. After I got out of work, I met them down there, which somehow led to the rather unique "only in New Orleans" experience of us ending up in Rick's Cabaret at 7 PM on a Sunday. Strip clubs are apparently not happening places on Sunday evenings, in case you couldn't guess. Mike complained that there was only one hot girl in the whole place, but I thought her fake boobs were a little scary. There was totally a line down one side. Things didn't even MOVE! They looked like hard plastic with skin stretched over them. But you could tell the girl worked out, from her arms and upper back, and the rest of her body was awesome. Too bad she didn't keep the B's she was born with (or A's, C's, whatever). She would have looked better.
I like my B's. I don't believe in women changing themselves to fit some ideal that men made up. Men don't have boobs. Therefore they should have no say.
2 comments:
I agree! No boob vote for men!
Dobby is the same way-- no matter what he's doing, he'll stop to be petted. To chase me down for petting. He'll jump right up from a nap if I walk in the room. Merlin might not complain too loudly, but he's sure not getting up from his comfy curled up position for it.
Some days, I wish I didn't have Siamese cats... they are, by far, the neediest living things I've EVER cohabitated with. Pretty, who used to be all shy and scared, now follows me from room to room crying in this high chirpy cat voice until I pet her. And if I don't respond immideately, like if I'm sitting on the couch grading papers, she'll headbutt me until I do. BUT, if I move to fast, her skittish little feet propel her either right out of the room or under the nearest peice of large furniture. And lets not forget Tai. He's got a full-on Siamese yowl... which could raise the dead. And he's pushy... climbing all over you, plopping down in the middle of everything until you spend the required amount of time (which ranges from 5 minutes to 5 hours--no joke) adoring his little wedge-head or tickling his armpits. *Sigh* I truly believe that those lucky enough to live with a cat find that thier lives are run by said cat rather than the other way around.
And here here on the boob vote! No mammaries, no vote.
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