What’s new, pussycat…

While I’ve pretty much unofficially switched to Sundays for this blog, I feel I had an extra-special good reason for not posting it yesterday. See, normally I just work until 6ish, but yesterday was a Grand Event beginning with a visit to some out-of-town friends and ending with my getting locked out of my apartment for rather longer than I strictly needed to.

Aaaand I suppose this is the part where I explain.

The locking out of the house was partly accidental and partly voluntary. I realized someone else had the other key, and that I could just call the landlord and probably get myself back in faster, but then it was a really nice night and there was that grocery store I wanted to go to….

I exhausted my repertoire of “things to do downtown on a Saturday (when you only have ten dollars on you)” right as it was time to be let back in, so things actually worked out way better than I would have expected had I known ahead of time I’d be locked out of my apartment for two hours. It didn’t even rain on me, which would have happened virtually any other night that past week. Heck, if the library had been opened I probably would have forgotten I was stuck out there. However, one thing I was not able to do was write any portion of a blog post before nightfall. Valid excuse! Huzzah!

The visit to friends is fairly self-explanatory, though I do feel the need to take a detour in which I ponder the Nature of Cats. You see, two … three? Two and a half? Nine-year-olds make addition difficult — anyhow, a quantity of these friends are in possession of two tortoiseshell cats who are not identical, though they do look dangerously similar at first. “Dangerously” because one is by all appearances a Standard Cat who is intensely interested in shoes, feet, the floor, and anything that isn’t you until you look demurely away from her for an appropriate amount of time (preferably whilst offering to scratch her neck, if your coordination allows for such a feat).

The other is still well within the range of normal feline personalities, but she skews more toward the “spontaneous violence” axis than the “coy aloofness” one. While I instinctively wish to be charitable to all cats, with them being superbeings and all, the “maybe she’s achy/nervous/in high spirits/half-blind” line of reasoning I bring out with all “hey, how you doing, YOU DIE NOW!!!” cats didn’t work so well in practice. This is clearly just one of those felines who is not willing to put on a veneer of politeness with guests and pretend we are not bumbling disgusting lesser beings. I accidentally stood in a place where she wanted to be standing, and got hissed at and batted for my insolence. But she doesn’t just hate being touched or approached in general — her favorite people, such as the one who feeds her and can hook her up with some catnip when necessary, are allowed to carry her around like a pharaoh (though these, too, may be cuffed and sworn at for setting her down too close to aforementioned filthy human strangers).

Artist’s rendition of the being in question (unwitting Standard Cat about to be glomped by enthusiastic mini-person in background)


But you know what the thing about cats is? Even though they are tiny psychopathic murderbeasts who by design are utterly lacking in much of the devotion and empathy that apparently draws people to dogs, and even though the most average cat could seriously MESS YOU UP if it really set its mind to attacking your face, somehow cat-grumpiness seems to have the exact opposite effect of dog-grumpiness. To cat people, at the very least. Like, if a dog growls at me, even a little cute dog, I get uncomfortable. Suddenly you wonder if you can trust this fellow, and how well he was brought up. But a cat? They’re far better at making you feel like it’s *your* fault your hand is now covered in bloody flesh-ribbons, and that maybe if you really devote yourself to it you can one day earn *their* approval.

It helps that the Angry Face of a cat involves squooshing the ears, mouth and eyes into a fangy and terrifying but also adorably rounded and kittenish look that leaves the enemy paralyzed with indecision — should I hug it or try to exorcise it?! Look at that nose! It’s so scrunchy and grumpy! Can I boop it without losing a hand? If not, is it maybe almost still worth it…? AAAAAAAHH WAIT WHAT AM I DOING.

It’s really no wonder that cats are associated with sorcery.


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